


In Another Life

by Lyl



Series: In Another Life-verse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Numb3rs
Genre: Amnesia, Crossover, Crossover Pairing, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 47,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyl/pseuds/Lyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every action has a consequence and every deal comes with a price. Willow's life is wiped clean, so she makes a new one for herself in LA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue(s)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't claim to know anything about magic, medicine or the FBI – what I didn't pick up from tv and books, I made up.

Prologue - The First

_During the Final Battle of Sunnydale_

The room was spinning in an entirely pleasing way, preventing Willow from closing her eyes against the dizziness. She lay flat on the floor, arms splayed out and knees bent, blinking at the twirling ceiling of the empty classroom. Kennedy had raced out minutes earlier with the Scythe, her newly acquired slayer strength energizing her. A harsh laugh erupted from the witch's throat, giddiness flowing through her veins as the magic slowly ebbed from her body. Adrenaline and magic combined in an addictive way, making every nerve in her body tingle with excitement. Nothing she'd ever done before had left her feeling anywhere near this level of euphoria, and she suspected nothing ever would again.

A slight frown turned her lips as she remembered what had happened while tapping into the power of the scythe. A price had to be paid, a bargain had been struck, and Willow had readily agreed.

The ceiling began to glow bright white, emanating from a centre point that seemed to grow and grow. This was it, she knew. The collection of the debt she had incurred in setting free the slayer line.

_"Come child, it is time."_

Willow felt some sadness seep through her euphoric haze. She would have liked to have said goodbye first; tell Buffy and Xander and Dawn and Giles and Kennedy, all of them, how much she loved them, but knew that it wasn't possible.

She'd made a bargain with a being that was older and more powerful than she could even understand, and it had come to collect. She couldn't regret it, and wouldn't take it back if she could. She'd done everything in her power to help save the world, and now it was time to rest.

"I'm ready," she said, watching hypnotized as the light grew larger and brighter until it was all she could see or feel. It wasn't hot or cold, or even remotely comforting, but Willow just relaxed and let it take her, feeling the last of the magic sparking in her blood. Then the light exploded and she was blinded by the glow.

Minutes later, as the battle with the First was nearing its end, Kennedy came running into the room intent on collecting her girlfriend. All that was left were the candles and herbs.

Willow was gone.

~!~

Prologue - The Second

_20 miles outside of the Sunnydale Crater - Four Days Later_

Milo Grant barely caught a glimpse of the figure in his headlights before he was slamming on the brakes, sending the vehicle onto the gravel shoulder in a squealing skid, rocks and dust flying everywhere.

"What the hell?!" yelled his partner from the floor of the ambulance where he'd been thrown.

"I saw someone out there," said Milo, peering through the waves of dust illuminated in the ambulance's headlights. The Sunnydale sinkhole was one of the spookiest disasters he'd ever been called to, and he was planning to take a nice long vacation when he got back to LA.

"There's no one around here, man," argued Walter. "Over three days of searching and we ain't come up with shit!"

Milo just shook his head, knowing Walter was wrong. His instincts - honed in some of the worst parts of LA - had never let him down, and they were telling him that someone was out there.

"Look," said Walter, coming up to the front seat, having apparently given up on trying to grab a quick nap on the way back to LA, "there ain't nobody on this stretch of asphalt, just like there ain't nobody in that hole that used to be a town."

Milo had to grant him that bit about the town, because even after four days and hundreds of searchers, no single body had been found in Sunnydale. What had started out as one of the worst natural disasters in California, had turned into the biggest mystery of the century. An entire town falls unexpectedly into a massive - previously undiscovered - sinkhole, yet no one had been in town during that time. Former residents, when they could be reached - or even found - all had the same story in multiple varieties. A sudden desire for an unexpected vacation out of town, with as many possessions as they could carry. No one was talking, and the investigators had found nothing to point to foul play, but it was still damn odd. Entire towns did not evacuate 'just because'.

They were chalking it up to a 'lucky break' and sending most of the rescue teams home. He and Walter were some of the last to leave, sent back to LA in the pitch black night.

"I'm telling you, I saw something." Milo kept his gaze on the area just beyond the headlights, the view improving as the dust settled.

"There!" he said as something moved at the edge of the light, where the shoulder of the road turned into a ditch that bordered most of the highway. Turning on the high beams, he was surprised to see a small hand, which was attached to an arm, which was attached to a person.

The hand moved in the dirt.

"Get your kit!"

End Prologue


	2. Chapter 2

_Three Years Later – FBI Head Office, LA_

Special Agent Don Eppes walked into the Information Retrieval Unit, heading straight to the Agent in Charge.

"Hey, Vic," greeted Don, weaving between the desks of glassy-eyed agents hard at work.

"Don, you didn't have to come all the way down here," said Victor Renkins, looking up from his cluttered desk. "I was going to send one of the kids up with the file."

"I needed the walk," Don admitted. The past few days had been stressful in a way that was different from normal. The new Assistant Director wanted to clear some of the backlog of cold cases in an effort to show that under his leadership the LA branch of the FBI was solving more cases, bringing in more bad guys, and providing more results all around. Or something like that. Don really didn't care; all he knew was that over half the active field teams - no matter the department - had been reassigned to investigate cold cases, his included. None of them were happy about it, but it did give them the time to go over some of the older cases that were benefiting from today's technology. As much as it pained him to admit it, they'd closed several cold cases in the last week that probably never would have seen the light of day again if not for the housecleaning.

"Well, you'll have to wait. It should be ready in a little while," Vic told him, motioning to the only other chair in his small office. Don sat down and traded small talk for a while, understanding that Vic had needed a break as much as he had. The IRU had unfortunately suffered the brunt of the investigation headaches, as agents had sent down requests for various data they couldn't get themselves. Getting the financial records from a bank that hadn't existed in over eight years could be difficult, if not impossible. But they had some of the best computer guys around who could find the dirty secrets of a salamander in the middle of the Mojave - if it had been recorded electronically.

A few minutes later, Vic looked over Don's shoulder and waved someone into his office. Turning, Don saw a slim, young red headed woman holding a standard brown file folder.

"Is that the Atkins data?" asked Vic, pointing to the file she held clutched in her hands.

"Uh-huh," she said, handing the file over. Vic quickly scanned through the report before signing off on it.

"You're in luck, Agent Eppes," he said, handing the file over to him, "Here's the financial data you requested."

"Oh. Hey, thanks," he said as he rose, resisting the temptation to open the file immediately.

"Willow, this is Special Agent Don Eppes. Don, this is Willow Rosenberg," introduced Vic. His lips quirked in a way that Don wasn't sure he liked. "Willow's one of my best computer techs."

"Oh, yeah?" said Don, smiling as she blushed.

"I'm not one of your techs, Vic," she said, studiously avoiding looking at Don.

"Not for lack of trying, Willow," he said with a sigh, and Don knew there was a story there.

"On that subject, I've maxed out my hours for this week," Willow announced.

"Damnit."

"Sorry, Vic," she apologized, sounding genuine.

"I know," said the other agent. "See you Monday morning."

"Unless you call me in the middle of the night again."

"I've only done that twice," argued Vic good naturedly, "and it was well past the midnight mark, so it was technically a new week."

"Uh-huh. Bye, Vic. It-it was nice meeting you, Agent Eppes," she said, all wide eyed and nervous before bolting out the door.

"Nice work there, Eppes," drawled Vic once Willow was safely out of earshot.

"What?" asked Don smiling, watching as she headed for the elevator. He didn't _think_ he had a reputation as being intimidating. Maybe he'd work on that, if he had a little help.

"I know that look, Eppes," Vic said, a warning clear in his tone.

Don turned to face the other agent, nodding his head in the direction of the elevators, asking, "So what's the story there?"

Vic regarded him silently for a moment, as if considering Don's worthiness. Don tried not to take it personally.

"She was recommended to me by a friend and does some consulting and freelance work for us," he finally said, leaning back in his chair. "I've been trying to get her hired on full-time, but her application keeps getting rejected."

"Doesn't have the qualifications?" asked Don curiously.

"That's not the problem. Half my guys don't have the official piece of paper."

This Don knew, because he'd heard Vic bitch enough times about HR being sticky about the lack of college degrees in his new hires.

"So if it's not HR..." Don inquired, frowning.

"Her background check. Security doesn't want to risk her on the payroll full-time, so I can only give her part-time hours."

"What? How does that work?" asked Don, not quite sure why she was cleared for part-time work but not full-time. If a background check doesn't clear, it doesn't clear. There's no middle ground - at least, that's what he thought.

"The requirements for part-time employees are less stringent than for full-time ones, despite the fact that she'd be doing the exact same thing she's doing now, only she'd be doing it for forty hours a week instead of twenty."

"Do you know what's causing the problem?"

"Yeah," said Vic, half mocking and half rueful. "Three years ago she was discovered unconscious on the side of the highway with no memory."

Don took a moment to absorb that. "Wow. Really?" He’d only ever heard of stuff like that in movies and TV. "So she has no idea who she is? What about her family? Is Willow even her real name?"

"Oh, she really is Willow Rosenberg - they found that out pretty quick - but no family or friends came forward so all she has to go on are the official records, most of which have been destroyed," Vic explained. Don was starting to see what had Security bothered by her - trusting someone who has essentially only existed for three years was a hell of a risk.

"How are they so sure they have the right person? Did they identify her through missing persons?" asked Don, his investigator's mind already running through the various angles and problems.

"She was found not far from the Sunnydale Crater, a few days after the town fell in on itself."

"So they started their search there, and found a match," concluded Don, nodding his head. "Was she in the town when it collapsed, then?"

"No one knows, least of all her. She's the only potential witness to what happened there, yet she has no memory of anything before being found on that highway."

“I don’t remember hearing any reports of survivors.”

“Once they realized she had no memory, they kept her existence quiet,” explained Vic. “Can you imagine the feeding frenzy if the press had ever gotten hold of her story? Media freak show.”

"Man, that's got to suck," added Don, his mind whirling with details and ideas. He never could shut his mind down, stopping himself from analyzing every detail. "So, how-"

"Ah! That's enough locker room gossip, Eppes," interrupted Vic, giving Don the same look he had earlier. "I'm done being your snitch. You want to know more, ask her yourself."

Don was taken aback for a moment, but more from the look Vic was giving him that was part amused and part smug.

"Wha-"

"Hey, go solve cases like a good little feeb, Eppes," Vic said. This time, there was no denying the amused smirk on his face. "Some of us have real work to do."

"Yeah, yeah," said Don, waving a hand as he walked out the door.

~!~

For the next week, Don found his thoughts returning to Willow more and more. He tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up one day and not remember a thing about himself or his life, and found his imagination didn't quite extend that far. He supposed it was one of those things you had to experience to fully understand, and really hoped he never would.

But she was always in his thoughts, which confused him at times because they hadn't really spoken to each other in those few minutes. Willow had made an impression, apparently, which was why when he bumped into her in the elevator the following week, he asked her to go for a coffee with him.

He wasn't sure what surprised him more - that he'd asked, or that she'd said yes.

End Part 1


	3. Chapter 3

One awkward coffee date led to another coffee date that led to another, which eventually culminated in an official dinner on one of the few nights the city of LA managed to survive on its own. By that point, the tentative awkwardness had mutated into easier conversation which Don found he enjoyed on multiple levels.

Willow seemed to be incapable of any sort of deception, and after days of dealing with all manner of people who lied, stole, cheated and killed for every reason under the sun, it was wonderfully refreshing. He wondered where it came from; if she'd lost the ability to lie when she lost her past, or if it was just something that was essentially Willow.

They weren't dating, _that_ Don knew for certain. But it was more than simply friends getting together, because he sure didn't spend this much time with any of his other friends.

Willow was different in so many ways from every other woman he'd become close to - either romantic or platonic - yet in just as many ways, she was the same. She was smart - scary smart at times - and driven and strong. In fact, she might just be the strongest person Don had ever met. Not many could wake up with no past or sense of self, then carve a life out for themselves with no real family or friends. Yet she had done it, and just three years later she had friends, and a job she loved and was good at - several jobs actually. She was happy with herself and didn't let her lack of memories hold her back.

"It's really frustrating at times,” she told him during one of their frequent coffee dates. “I don't actually remember anything, but I _know_ things. I mean, I get movie references, but I don't remember ever seeing the movie; I can tell you the plot of several books, but I don't remember reading them; I know how to drive, but I have no memory of learning to drive.”

“So is that how you know about computers or did you learn that after?” he asked her.

“No, that was one of those things I just knew. I was playing around on Milo's computer one day, and suddenly I was writing a pop-up blocker for his browser.”

“Milo?” asked Don, not remembering her mentioning a boyfriend.

“He's a friend,” she explained, taking a sip of her drink. “Well, he's actually one of the paramedics who found me outside of Sunnydale. He came to check up on me a few days later, and when he found out I had nowhere to go, he offered his spare room. I was confused and scared, terrified of leaving the hospital; he was the closest I had to a friend so I took him up on his offer.”

“Just like that he offered up a place to stay?”

“Yeah. Thinking back on it now it seems very strange, but at the time it seemed like a good idea,” said Willow, her mouth twisting in a rueful smile. “He still hasn't come up with a better answer other than I looked like a sad, lost puppy begging for attention.”

Don could hear the mix of affection and exasperation in her voice, smiling at her scrunched face.

“Did you learn anything else about your past? Family? Friends? School? Work?” asked Don.

“There were no missing persons’ reports, and no one has been looking for me in the last years, at least through official channels,” she told him.

“What have you been able to figure out so far?” he asked. Everything was computerized these days, and on some computer, some where, there was some tidbit of information about you .

“Well, according to Customs I went to England for a few months, about a year before I lost my memory. I dropped out of school half-way through the semester to go and came back a few months later. I went back to school, but dropped out again mid-semester.”

“Anything on the England front? Where you stayed; who you were with?”

“No, the building that was listed as my residence blew up a few months after I left,” she said with a frown, and Don wondered if Willow ever thought she'd either had something to do with the explosion or had at least known about it.

After four months of fairly regular meetings, Don knew quite a bit about Willow Rosenberg. He knew that there was still no missing persons report on her, and that while her parents weren't listed as dead, they were nowhere to be found. He knew she had just moved out on her own after living with Milo-the-paramedic for three years – she said it was to gain some independence, but privately Don thought that living with Milo and his girlfriend had become uncomfortable for her. He also knew that while she wanted to go back to school, her record of mid-semester drop outs and no declared major made the admissions board nervous and uncertain. Not to mention she had no way of paying for college and no memory of ever attending any school, at all.

Willow also knew quite a bit about him, as well. Don found that he could talk to Willow and tell her things he didn't feel comfortable telling anyone else. Not his Dad, not Charlie, not Robin or anyone on his team. In fact, she was the first person he told about his break-up with his federal prosecutor girlfriend, Robin Brooks, and then about the chemistry he felt with Liz Warner, a junior FBI agent.

Don was a private person, but felt comfortable enough around Willow to tell her things he wouldn't tell anyone else, not even his girlfriend. He knew that should bother him, or at least make him start questioning what exactly was developing between them, but didn't. Willow was one of the few people he met that he clicked with instantly – the last one had been Terry Lake, whom he'd met while in training at Quantico years ago. He'd stayed close with her for years after they'd broken up, even working side by side with her his first year back in LA.

He told her about his math genius brother, Charlie, who helped them out on cases periodically, and about the different personalities on his team. Don told her about how he'd been leery of taking on Colby Granger, a junior agent who had finished two tours in Afghanistan with the Army; about dealing with David Sinclair, the agent who'd been on his team the longest, but Don hadn't thought would last six months; about how much respect he had for Megan Reeves who routinely dove into the psyches of some of LA's worst and most deadly, yet still managed to remain almost untouched by all she saw.

And Willow told him about her friend Cherry, who's goal was to meet as many people in LA as possible, so she could say 'I met him/her once' when they became famous.

What always amazed Don was just how much Willow did with her time. She was always developing one pastime or another, in addition to the three jobs she held. Willow explained it to him once, but that still didn't lessen his sense that she was working too hard.

“Milo got me that first meeting with Vic, but because of this stupid amnesia, could only give me part-time hours,” she'd explained, and Don wondered how a paramedic knew the head of the IRU well enough to send him technical analysts for consideration. “Then came Arctic Morgan. I started doing a few side jobs, and now I do larger contracts.”

“That's the one that pays the bills, I'm guessing,” Don had added, having a pretty good idea the difference in pay scales between a part-time tech working for the federal government and a contract worker at a company with multiple contracts with the Department of Defense. “So why do you still work for the FBI?”

“I like to help people.” Don couldn’t argue with that.

The last job was the real odd one.

“A coffee shop?” asked Don, more surprised than he'd been in awhile.

Willow snorted in a very un-Willow-like way and took a sip of her drink to hide her smile, but Don could tell she was highly amused.

“It's a way to interact and meet people, instead of being holed up in front of a computer all the time,” she said after a minute, refusing to meet his eyes. Don waited her out, knowing from past experience that she would tell him in her own time. Usually. “Dr Chorlate suggested it.”

Ah, the psychologist she still saw several times a month. That made more sense. Though he'd have to drop by the coffee shop a time or two, because the characters she met were always so fascinating.

It also provided him with an endless supply of stories to be entertained by.

End Part 2


	4. Chapter 4

She'd helped him deal with Robin dumping him, and his decision to start something with Liz. In return, he'd found himself as the shoulder to cry on when she'd finally found her parents. Or, rather, when they found her.

"What happened?" he asked as he struggled into his jacket while trying to hold onto his cell phone.

"I don't know, man, but get over here," hissed Milo, his voice hushed and panicked. "I don't _do_ crying women, Eppes."

Any other time, Don would have been ribbing him about hiding from one small woman, but he was too concerned. Willow wasn't the type for hysterical sobbing fits, adding to Don's worry.

"I'm on my way," he said, giving a quick nod to Liz as he left her apartment. He knew he'd be paying for it later, but right now Willow was more important.

Don's hand stalled on the door of his car when he heard a crash over the line, followed by sobbing curses.

"Milo?" Don asked, frowning at the driver side window.

"You got a siren, Eppes. Use it," was all the man would say before hanging up.

Don stared at the cell phone in his hand for a moment before cursing and hustling into the Suburban.

The twenty minute drive felt excruciatingly long as his mind ran over the possibilities. He'd last seen Willow yesterday, and she'd been happy and smiling and excited over finally having some connection to her past. Her parents had gotten in contact with her and were flying to LA so they could meet. All he knew about them was that they were psychologists. He had a few issues to hash out with them himself - like how could they not know their daughter was missing for almost four years?

Whatever expectations he'd had in regard to them, Willow had apparently had hers crushed if the call from Milo was any indication.

Pulling into the apartment parking lot, Don silently groaned at the sight of a patrol unit pulling in behind him. Someone had apparently called the cops, and knowing his luck, they were all going to the same place.

"You guys going up to 304?" he asked, flashing his badge as he drew near the officers exiting the patrol car.

"Domestic dispute," one said warily. "Neighbours called it in."

"This part of an investigation or something?" the other asked.

"Personal business," he said, knowing that wouldn't help. Don quickly considered booting them away, but knew if he did his name would be all over the beat sheet in a way he wouldn't like. It was necessary to maintain a good relationship with the LAPD, and using his badge and authority to wave off a domestic dispute call was a good way to cause bad blood.

A quick nod conveyed the message that he wasn't going to interfere, and together they headed up to the apartment.

"Milo, open up," Don said, knocking on the door.

"What the hell took you so long, Eppes?" snapped Milo as he yanked open the door, only to come up short at seeing the uniformed cops behind him. "Danning? Hewitt? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Neighbours called the cops, Milo," said Don pushing his way into the apartment, leaving Milo to handle the uniforms.

Another crash followed by a stream of swearing led him to the kitchen where he pulled up short. Willow was standing near the sink surrounded by what looked like the remnants of Milo's kitchenware, face red and wet, eyes puffy and wide, her shoulders hitching with every watery, breathy sob that was torn from her throat.

Don called her name gently, trying not to startle her too much. She turned to face him, her eyes clearing a little, and Don's heart broke a little when she called out "Don?" in a lost, confused voice.

"Don't move," he warned when he saw her starting to take a step. There were broken dishes all around her bare feet.

"Don - they just - and I don't know why...they wouldn't say...why wouldn't they - I don't understand..." Don listened to her half-formed sentences as he slowly made his way to her trembling form, sweeping the broken shards out of his way with his foot. "They wouldn't tell me. Why wouldn't they tell me?" she demanded as he pulled her to him, taking her weight as she slumped into him.

"I don't understand," she mumbled into his chest as she started to cry, her hands clutching at him.

Don made some - hopefully - comforting noises, feeling her go limp in his arms as she continued to sob against his chest.

"C'mon, let's get you away from this mess," he said, lifting her into his arms. Milo pointed him in the direction of her old room, and Don assumed he'd take care of the cops.

When she wouldn't let go of him, Don settled down on the bed next to her, holding her close until she was calm enough to talk about what had preceded the nuclear meltdown. Once she started to hesitantly describe the meeting with her parents, it took every ounce of training in him to remain calm. As she sobbed out the last details of the meeting, Don pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her. It took a while, but Willow finally faded into slumber, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted deep enough that Don could extricate himself without waking her.

Closing the door, Don found Milo sitting alone in the living room.

"Got rid of them?" he asked, moving wearily towards the closest chair.

"Yeah. They'll make sure no names get put into the report."

"Good, good," said Don as he sat down. Leaning forward, he put his face in his hands and wondered idly how he'd progressed to boyfriend duties with someone he wasn't even dating.

"What did her parents do?" asked Milo after a moment of silence. They'd both known she had gone alone to meet with her parents tonight. Don remembered how amusing he'd found her nervousness about the meeting, teasing her about it. Now, he wished her parents had never found her.

"They've been in Africa or Asia or India - somewhere out of the way - and just found out about Sunnydale when they popped their heads out of the sand," said Don, running his hands through his hair. "That was eighteen months ago. When they couldn't get hold of Willow, they searched for the 'hooligans she calls friends', who told them she was dead. They went looking for the 'body', and some investigating later, they found her alive and living in LA."

They both knew the story from there - how they'd contacted Willow through Arctic Morgan, one of her employers, and been told of her amnesia. It was the first contact Willow had had with anyone from her past, so her anxiety was completely understandable.

“So for two and a half years they don't notice their only daughter's missing?” asked Milo, sounding as incredulous as Don had been.

“From what Willow could tell, the Rosenberg's haven't used their Sunnydale home as more than a quick stopover point between research trips since Willow graduated high school.”

“Some family,” said Milo after a pause, and Don really didn't have anything to add that wouldn't get him kicked out of a church.

"And? So? What else did they do to send her ballistic like that?"

"They find her a fascinating case study," said Don. "So fascinating, in fact, that they want to see how she develops as an individual without any input from her old life."

"They're not going to tell her anything, are they?" said Milo after a moment of silence, more a statement than a question.

"Nope," answered Don. Right then and there Don hated them as much as Willow did. To wilfully withhold personal information from an amnesia victim - your own daughter - had to be illegal or something.

Looking up, Don met Milo's eyes, and for the first time since Willow had introduced them, a shared understanding passed between them and they were in complete agreement.

Willow's parents were now considered the enemy, and Willow would never be meeting them alone again, if either of them could help it.

End Part 3


	5. Chapter 5

"Uh-uh. No way," said Willow, staring wide-eyed at the hundred foot climbing wall in front of her.

"This was your idea," Don reminded her, clipping the last of his safety gear in place.

"It was a bad idea. So very, very bad."

"You said you wanted to try something new. It's either this or the paintball place next door," he said, knowing it was dirty pool as he said it.

It had been three weeks since the disastrous meeting with Willow's parents, and Don was doing his best to pull her out of her funk. True to their unspoken agreement, either Milo or Don had been present at all future meetings between Willow and her parents, and both men had been happy to see them take off back to Africa. But Willow had been depressed since the visit, which Don understood. Her first real link to her past had turn their noses up at helping her out, all in the name of 'research'. To make matters worse, Willow now knew why no one had ever looked for her when she went missing – they all thought she was dead.

To try and take her mind off the spectacularly bad meeting with her parents, Don had stolen Willow away from work for the day.

They'd driven to the outskirts of LA to a paintball arena that had an outdoor course, only to have Willow freeze up the second she'd picked up the paintball gun. She'd started to hyperventilate, and Don knew a full blown panic attack was on its way. He'd taken the gun from her hands and led her outside where he'd eventually been able to calm her down.

He'd tried to understand where this fear of guns had come from, and whether it was all guns or just paintball guns. In all the time he'd known her, Willow had never had a problem at the FBI where most agents carried sidearms on a daily basis, and she'd never had a problem being around him when he was still armed.

Her answer was the generic, _"I don't know. I just...don't.”_ It was what he'd come to expect from these situations. Willow would suddenly start doing something new, or _not_ doing something new, but wouldn't know why. It was just another side effect from her amnesia that was still haunting her four years later, and always brought back the frustration and anger at her missing memory.

In an effort to bypass the coming breakdown and recover some of the day, he'd suggested the climbing club next door.

Now, here they were all geared up and ready to go, and Willow was suddenly balking at the sight of the wall. Don had enough experience at this point to know that her reluctance wasn't because some unknown instinct had surfaced, like it had at the paintball arena. This was simple fear of the unknown, possibly a fear of heights, and a little coaxing would get her up the wall.

"Paintball. Bad," was all she said, making Don smile.

"Then let's go," he said, nudging her towards the wall.

It took some encouragement on his part, but eventually Willow was hesitantly climbing the wall as her instructor called out directions and encouragement, having picked up on her hesitation. Don needed far less instruction from his own teacher, having gone through some of the basics at Quantico. Throughout his own climb, Don would sneak peeks at her as she slowly ascended the wall just below him. She had a look of intense concentration on her face as she moved, gaining confidence with every foothold.

When Don reached the top of the wall, he sat and started chatting with some of the other climbers that were taking a break before repelling back down, when he looked and found Willow was nearly to the top. He noticed she had frozen where she was, her head bent down. Don realized she was staring down at the ground, more than eighty feet below, frozen in place.

"Hey, Willow," he called down, pitching his voice low enough to not draw the attention of everyone in the climbing facility. "You okay? Do you need me to come down there and rescue you?"

It had the desired effect, as Willow looked up at him and glared. "Shut up!"

Don laughed as she started climbing again. One thing he'd learned about Willow early on was that she hated having people do things for her. Especially if it was something she knew she could do. Being incapable of a task was different than letting someone do it for her.

Eventually she reached the top, settling in next to Don, looking down at the busy warehouse floor below her.

"That was fun," she said once she caught her breath. "Can we do it again?"

Don smiled and congratulated himself on the idea of the climbing facility. She had a look on her face he'd only seen a few times before - the discovery of something new that was truly 'new'. He'd been on a few of her quests to 'find out what I like', and had seen many of them end in disappointment. Either she didn't like something, or already 'knew' how she should feel about it. Their latest excursion to a museum showing an exhibit of ancient civilizations had ended short when she'd realized most of the translations were wrong, and that the exhibits had pieces from various eras mixed in together.

Neither of them knew what that said about her previous life.

Hours later, sitting in the car, Don couldn't help feeling a little smug and a lot proud of himself. Willow looked exhausted and sore, but also languid and relaxed, blissed out on adrenaline.

"I'm going to be so sore tomorrow," she said after a minute, staring sightlessly through the windshield.

"So you had fun," Don said.

"Oh yeah. Once I got over the mind numbing terror, it was a blast." She still had a dopey smile curving her lips as she looked over at him.

"You know, they have year long memberships," said Don, putting out an offer he hadn't consciously decided on yet. But she looked so happy right now, and Don wanted her to feel this way as often as possible.

Willow turned back to the windshield, the smile leaving her face as she bit her lip in contemplation.

"Would you come with me?" she asked after a moment, turning back to him.

Putting the keys in the ignition, Don smiled as he started the car. "I'd love to."

End Part 4


	6. Chapter 6

Willow woke to a pounding head and no memory of how it had happened. She was tired, sore and achy, not to mention hot and sweaty. She moved around experimentally before realizing that she was naked, and the reason for the hot and sweaty was the arm holding her tight against someone else. Another hot body. Another hot - male - body, to be exact.

Opening one dry eye, she saw shapes and colours too blurry to distinguish. She blinked several times to try and clear her vision, hoping it would ease some of the pounding in her head. It was a slim hope, but at the moment it was all she had.

She didn't know where she was, who she was with, or even how she had gotten here. It was too much to deal with this soon into what felt like a hangover. Well, what her limited experience told her was a hangover.

Willow closed her eyes against the bright sunlight and tried desperately to remember what had happened the night before. Pushing the panic down, she tried to determine where the previous day fell into blank darkness.

She'd left Arctic Morgan after meeting with a few of the VP's of _something_ to talk about a new contract, that part was clear and present. It had been nearing the end of rush hour and she'd called...._Oh God - she'd called Don!_ Her heart started to speed up as she remembered calling him because she knew he had a rare night off, and he'd been acting weird ever since breaking up with Liz.

She'd picked up some Chinese...gone over to Don's apartment - which is where she was now. A quick look provided her with a clearer view of what she now identified as the curtain hanging from his bedroom window.

Bedroom. Window.

This was not good. She remembered Don answering the door already halfway through a twelve-pack, which Willow had decided to help him finish. It was when they broke out the tequila that the night started to go fuzzy. She didn't like not remembering, it felt too much like the first days - weeks - after waking up in the hospital. It was why she was careful to not get drunk since that one time with Milo.

Yet, it looked like that was exactly what she had done.

Turning her head slowly, she followed the arm encircling her waist back up to the shoulder. The very naked shoulder.

Through sheer force of will, Willow shuffled and twisted the last bit needed to see the face attached to the very naked shoulder, and felt her heart start to beat double. It was Don. A very rough and sleep-mussed Don, but Don nonetheless.

_Oh God! Ohgodohgodohgodohgod._

This was bad. This was super bad. This was bad on a level that bad hadn't been on before. This was super-duper ultra bad.

Her heart felt like it was about to explode out of her chest with each thundering beat, echoing the pounding in her head. Her throat started to spasm, causing choking, hiccuping breaths. This, Willow knew well; she was starting to hyperventilate - another experience she'd come to loathe in the hospital.

Don started to shift and twitch, a sure sign he was starting to wake up - he'd fallen asleep during enough movie nights that Willow was familiar with the signs. This time, however, she desperately didn't want to poke him awake and make fun of him. In fact, she wanted him to stay asleep, at least long enough for her to leave.

Yes. Leave. She needed to get away from the apartment and Don and the bedroom and the things she was sure had happened but didn't want to admit.

Carefully wiggling out from under his arm, Willow sat up slowly and thanked whoever was listening that the room was barely spinning. Swinging her legs around, she was careful to not jostle the bed too much. Any thoughts - or desire - for modesty were put to the side when she realized that covering herself with the sheet would only wake Don. Getting gingerly to her feet, Willow scanned the room for her clothes, not sure whether to be relieved or slightly horrified that the only item she could find was the boring pair of white underwear she'd put on the morning before. Quickly putting them on, she caught sight of her pants trailing around the corner from the living room. Once last glance at the still-sleeping Don, and Willow followed the trail of clothing through the rest of the apartment. With every item came a few more flashes, usually involving skin and lips and embarrassing noises.

And with every flash of memory, the tears came closer to the surface.

She'd ruined her friendship with Don. They couldn't go back to being friends after this. Willow had never been in this situation before - that she knew of, anyway - but she knew enough to know that one stupid night had changed everything. And even if she couldn't regret what had been the one fantasy she hadn't dared admit, she did regret the loss of her Don-shaped friend.

There would be no more movie nights where they heckled the police, the bad guys or the so-called hackers. There wouldn't be any more three hour coffee breaks. No more chopstick wars while eating take-out, and no more making fun of his dorky high school pictures. And she was angry, Willow finally admitted to herself. She'd forced herself to keep any possible romantic or crush-like feelings from invading her thoughts, because she hadn't wanted to lose a friend. She didn't have many, even fewer close friends, and the loss of one - especially Don - would hurt.

Don was special in a way he probably didn't realize; he was the first friend she made all by herself. Everyone else she'd met either through Milo or work, and while technically both she and Don worked for the FBI, they were in completely different departments, let alone floors. They didn't come into contact with each other very often, doing most of their socializing outside of work.

Now she was grateful for that distance, because she could easily avoid him in the Federal building. Not that she thought he'd really want to see her. She'd just become another in a long line of women to pass through Don Eppes' life and bed. It was a category she was proud to have avoided, no matter what thoughts may pop up in the middle of the night.

The unmistakable sounds of someone moving around the bedroom drew Willow's attention, freezing her in place for an instant. Then her survival instincts kicked in and she gave up the search for her missing bra, grabbed her purse and shoes and bolted for the door. She was aware of a dazed male voice calling her name as the door closed behind her, but with the tears running down her face, her only thought was to escape.

She needed to hole up somewhere and mend her tattered heart. Because until this very moment, Willow hadn't realized how much she had been fooling herself.

End Part 5


	7. Chapter 7

Megan waited until the third heaping spoonful of salt was added to his coffee before calling him on it.

"Something bothering you, Don?" asked Megan, keeping one eye on Colby and David through the glass of the break room wall. A subtle twitch of her head conveyed her request, both nodding in agreement. Satisfied that the two agents would keep others out for a few minutes, Megan turned all her attention on her boss.

He'd been distracted and unfocused all morning, going so far as to snap at anyone unlucky enough to wander into his vicinity. David and Colby both agreed with her that it wasn't just the obvious hangover that was the cause for Don's attitude today, and the guys had left it to her to find the reason.

"Hm?" he said distractedly, pulling out his cell phone. He looked at it intently for a moment before putting it away. That was another thing David had commented on - the constant phone checks. They couldn't figure out if he was trying to decide to call someone, or waiting for it to ring, but either way it was very unlike him. Don was rarely indecisive at work, always making the call no matter how tough it was. His personal life was a different matter though; still, he rarely let it intrude on his work.

"You seem distracted this morning," she said simply, taking a small sip of her coffee.

"I'm fine." Right. Like that was going to convince anyone, Megan thought.

"How's your coffee?" she asked pointedly, waiting patiently as he gave her a weird look before taking a deliberate drink.

Then waiting patiently as he spat it out into the sink.

"Decaf?" she asked teasingly, keeping the smile small and hidden behind her cup. Don took a few mouthfuls of water to rinse the taste of salty coffee from his mouth, before looking to the container of salt he'd been using to sweeten his coffee. Megan watched as his shoulders slumped slightly in defeat.

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing if you're salting your coffee without realizing it, Don."

"I just need to work some stuff out," he insisted, turning to face her. "Personal stuff."

That was the Don Eppes she was more familiar with. The one that needed to mull something over very carefully before deciding whether or not to open himself up emotionally.

Which meant there was a woman in Don's life. A woman no one on the team knew about; that most likely his family didn't know about. It seemed fairly serious if the way he was brooding was any indication.

"You know I'm always willing to listen," she offered, hoping he would open up to her.

"Yeah, I know," he said, giving her a small smile. "So, where are we on those real estate records?"

Later, Megan regretted not pushing for more information from Don. She knew she could have pried the information out of him one way or another. Instead she stood confused and helpless as she - and most of the office - watched the shadowy figures of Don and a visitor have an arm-waving, yelling match in the interrogation room. The words might be muffled, but the volume and the tone sure weren't.

"Who is he?" she asked Colby, turning her head but keeping her eyes on the drama going on behind the blinds.

"Milo Grant," he said as he put down the receiver. "Signed in as a guest of Vic Renkins from the basement."

Information Retrieval Unit. _Huh._ "But how does he know Don?" she asked absently, wondering how a friend of the IRU head came to be having a yelling match with an FBI field agent.

"I have _no_ clue," said Colby.

Megan continued to watch the shadow figures, her mind putting together pieces of a puzzle she didn't know existed until today.

The door to Interrogation partially opened and their guest, Milo, threw one last volley at Don, "Fix it, Eppes. I don't care how!"

The rest of the office suddenly found their work extra fascinating, but Megan kept her eye on the door as Milo stormed back to the elevator.

Waiting for activity to return to normal around her, Megan considered her next move. They were in the middle of evidence gathering, just starting to put the pieces together on the new case they were working. Don half-focussed now was an annoyance, but later it could be dangerous if his head wasn't fully in the game.

"Woah, what happened here?" said a voice, drawing Megan's attention away from the older Eppes brother to greet the younger one. Charlie had arrived to help them make some sense of the numbers they were seeing in the current case. Apparently he had arrived too late to see the midday show. However, he had arrived in time to catch the awkward, unnatural silence that still held a grip on the majority of the office.

"Hey, Charlie. You ever heard of a guy named Milo Grant?" asked Colby.

"Mi-no, I don't think - should I have?" Charlie asked, looking confused at the non sequitur.

"Well, he sure knows Don."

Before Colby could start to gossip like the teenage girl she secretly thought he was, Megan announced, "I think Don could use a coffee."

"He could use a beer," said David. Megan ignored him, and made her way to the interrogation room Don had yet to emerge from.

Megan popped her head in the room and asked, "You want to get a coffee?"

"We have coffee here," he said, looking confused.

"Yeah, but we're out of salt," she smiled. "C'mon, let get out of this place for a bit."

Turning on her heels, Megan boldly walked towards the elevator, hoping that her bravado would be enough to pull Don along behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she was please to see him coming towards her.

A short while later, sitting outside one of the nearby cafes, Don started to look more relaxed by the minute.

"You going to tell me what's going on with you?" she asked, breaking the silence. For a minute she didn't think she would get a response.

Don sighed quietly and said, "I made a mistake last night."

"How so?"

"Something happened that I never meant to happen, and I don't know how to deal with it."

"Does this have to do with a woman?" she asked quietly, knowing what a minefield Don's romantic life was like. And it had barely been a month since Liz, so she was doubly cautious.

"Yeah."

"Does it have anything to do with why you came in hung over this morning?"

A little quieter, "Yeah."

"How long have you been seeing her?"

"I haven't been - not in the way you mean."

Megan remained silent, waiting for Don to form his thoughts into words.

"I met her over a year ago - before Robin left. Not like that," he said, making Megan aware of what was showing on her face. "We're friends. Good friends."

This surprised Megan a little less than she thought. Everyone knew Don was a private person, keeping his relationships, whether romantic or platonic, as closely guarded as he could. Though in Megan's mind, having a secret friend was better than having a secret 'friend'.

"I met her and just knew I had to get to know her better," said Don, a smile lighting up his face.

Megan began to pay even closer attention to details and body language, because this was a side of Don she hadn't seen in awhile. "Have you ever met someone, and realized that they're completely fascinating? That you wanted to know more about them? Where every little thing you learn only makes you want to know more and more until you become a part of their interesting world, so irrevocably tied in with them that you can't imagine not knowing this person?"

Megan knew exactly how that felt - it was what led her to Larry.

Don huffed out a breath, "And then I go and screw it up."

"Last night," Megan concluded, fitting a whole bunch of pieces together, including the hangover. Drunken sex with a good friend rarely ended well. "How did she react?"

"She left before I woke up," he said, sounding defeated. Megan felt for Don, she really did. His personal life was like the Rocky Mountains littered with land mines.

"Have you tried talking to her?" she asked.

"She hasn't called me, and I'm not sure what to say to her. I don't even know how to start that conversation."

"Well, you could always start with 'Hi'," she said, smiling lightly.

"Smartass."

"Seriously Don, you need to make a decision here," she said after a moment. "Do you want to go back to being friends, with all these issues floating between you? Or do you want to see if something can come of it, romantically? Because I don't think you'd be brooding this much if there wasn't some interest on your part."

"You really think this could go in that direction?" Don asked her uncertainly.

"Look, I don't know her, or how you are with her, but I know you. There had to have been something pretty fantastic about her to grab your attention the way she did, and then keep you interested for over a year. Now, if you think that something is enough to build a real relationship from, then go ahead and take the chance. But if you don't think anything will come of it, then work like hell to get your friendship back on track. Either way, she sounds like she's important enough to you that whatever you choose, you'll do your best to make it work."

Don just stared at her for a moment, and Megan could swear she could see the wheels turning in his head.

"I need to think about this some more. I-" he said, only to be cut off by his ringing phone.

Megan watched him, hoping to get back to the topic of this mysterious woman. She really wanted to question Don about her, but would settle for anything. Though a name would be nice.

Any hope she had of pulling the information from him was dashed as she heard, "Charlie, yeah, what have you got?"

There would always be later.

~!~

Megan really wished Don would pick better times and places for these personal epiphanies of his, because after late night witness hunts was not the best time. An unexpected turn in their government issue Suburban had her grasping at anything solid as the vehicle lurched around a corner with squealing tires.

Don's only comment was, "You want a coffee?"

Megan stared at him mildly astonished, and blinked. "It's eleven at night."

"I know this great place that's open late." That was all she got from him as he drove through the streets of LA, in search of a specific place.

He was supremely focused on driving, but Megan didn't delude herself into thinking that he was actually seeing the road in front of him. He seemed to have come to some important decision - no guesses as to what - and was determined to act on it. Right. This. Minute.

They pulled to a stop near what was obviously a trendy coffeehouse near the UCLA campus, and Megan had the sudden panic that Don's mystery woman was a college co-ed. Then she reminded herself that even if she was fairly young, Don wouldn't be interested in someone who wasn't at least as mature as he was. Well, as mature as he was _most of the time_.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said as he slid out of the car, walking determinedly across the street and into the coffeehouse.

Megan was tempted to try and sneak a closer peek at this mystery woman of Don's - assuming that's why they were here, and not to feed their government issue caffeine habits. She had a good vantage point from inside the car, thanks to the glass storefront. She watched as he paused just inside the door before moving to the counter and talking to the dark haired girl behind the counter. Whatever he said had the dark haired girl going in to the back, and a minute later a redhead emerged. By the way she froze when she saw Don, Megan was willing to bet that this was her.

_A redhead. That was new._

She really wished she'd thought to plant a bug on Don before he went in there, because whatever he was saying was making the redhead fidget and avoid eye contact. He managed to get her to come out from behind the counter, and Megan sent a silent thanks to Don for staying in her line of sight. She had an even better view of them now, and watched as Don and the woman had what looked like an uncomfortable conversation.

Well, if what Megan had thought happened, had really happened, she could understand where the awkwardness was coming from.

Then Don took a step closer, reached out and pulled her into a very interesting kiss.

Well, that answered the question about what Don had decided to do. And if the way the redhead was clutching at his shirt was any indication, the interest was definitely returned.

They finally broke apart, talking for a few more minutes with the woman nodding a few times. There was another brief kiss shared before Don motioned towards the Suburban with his head and left the coffeehouse. Even from across the street, Megan could see the huge smile that lit the red head's face as Don reluctantly made his way back to the car. Even Don was having trouble keeping the grin off his face when he got back into the driver's seat.

"Well, that's an interesting ordering technique," she commented as they started to drive away.

"Shut up," he retorted, a smile in his voice. She could be wrong, but there may have been a blush, too.

Megan just turned towards him in her seat. "Seriously, Don. Where's my coffee?"

End Part 6


	8. Chapter 8

Willow paced anxiously along the pavement across from Don's apartment, chewing nervously on her lip as she checked her watch. The minute hand had barely moved since the last check, and Willow glared at it in personal affront. She was meeting Don tonight, the first time since That Night, and she was nervous. Don had asked her to dinner, and this time they both knew it was Dinner-with-a-capital-D-as-in-date. She'd been a complete wreck after fleeing from Don's apartment, forgetting about her weekly lunch with Milo, who had shown up and dragged the whole story out of her. She'd finally left for work, hoping to keep busy enough to keep her mind off of Don and the super-huge disaster that was the night before.

Instead, he'd shown up at the coffee shop near the end of her shift, and as much as she didn't want to have _that_ conversation with him, having it in front of co-workers and regular customers was so much worse. It had been just as awkward and distressing as she'd imagined it would be, right up until Don had asked her if she'd ever thought about them being more than just friends.

Willow hadn't been able to look him in the eye, which he had apparently taken as a 'yes', because the next thing she knew he was kissing her. It had been ten times better than the brief flashes of memory she retained from their drunken sex, so much that it had taken her a moment to realize Don had pulled away and was talking to her.

_"If you don't think we could make something more out of this, tell me now,"_ he'd said, and Willow just nodded.

She remembered he'd looked confused, unsure of what she was agreeing too, and that look of uncertainty on his face had only endeared him to her more.

_"I want more,"_ she'd managed to say, and even now remembered the loud thumping of her heart in her chest.

His _"Me, too"_ had made her smile.

Before he'd left the coffee shop - leaving Willow to the mercy of her co-worker Cherry and the few regulars who knew her - he'd invited her over to his place for dinner.

So here she was, pacing along the sidewalk just down the street from his apartment building, questioning everything. Would he have changed his mind since then? Was he reconsidering this whole 'couple' thing they seemed to be heading towards? Should _she_ be reconsidering this whole couple thing? What if there wasn't anything there after all? What if they fizzled out in six months and she was without Don in her life? What if this was just a pity date? Or what if he decided he couldn't handle dating someone with no memory beyond the last four years?

Willow stopped working herself into a frenzy, reminding herself that Don knew and accepted all the amnesia-related issues she came with. They'd spent enough time talking about it when they first became friends, and she'd actually come to accept the reality that her memories were probably gone forever. Don had helped her with that, though she didn't think he realized what his total acceptance had done.

Stopping abruptly, Willow forced herself to turn towards Don's apartment. Since waking up in the hospital four years ago, she hadn't let anyone or anything turn her away from something she wanted, and she wouldn't let her own insecurities push her away from what looked like a promising relationship with someone she liked more than she'd ever admitted to herself. She'd created a life for herself out of the emptiness that was her mind, and this was just another step.

With a determined nod and a resolved look on her face, Willow headed towards Don's apartment, not caring that she was early. If she held off any longer, she might not have the courage to actually knock on the door.

Pushing the lobby buzzer for his apartment, Willow tried not to notice how much her hand was shaking.

"Hi. It's-it's me," she said into the microphone when he answered.

_"Come on up,"_ came his voice through the intercom as a buzz sounded behind her. Turning, Willow forced her limbs to move smoothly despite the rapid pulsing of blood through her veins.

Following the familiar path through the building to the apartment she'd been to dozens of times in the past, Willow paused outside his apartment, hand raised to knock.

Her last thought before rapping on the door was, 'I hope he didn't decide to cook'.

~!~

Pulling the glasses down from the shelf, Don told himself to stop being stupid and act like this was any other dinner with a woman. It hadn't worked the first fifty times he'd said it, and it wasn't working now, not that Don was really surprised. This wasn't just another dinner, and Willow wasn't just another woman. As hokey as it sounded, their entire relationship rested on how tonight went. If it went badly - really badly - then there was a good chance he would lose her forever. Not that he really thought a single bad dinner could make her start hating him, but he knew the path they'd start down. They would decide that they were better as friends than as a couple, but the knowledge would be there between them from then on. They would slowly start to avoid each other, until one day they realized they hadn't spoken in years.

Don desperately didn't want that. He'd thought about his choices long and hard ever since waking up to an empty bed and a closing door. He'd had a moment of panic where he was sure he would never see her again after their drunken sex, and that hadn't sat well with him. The hangover had been the least of his problems. His mind was determined to replay every single detail from that night in glorious technicolour, complete with surround sound.

In a way, that was what had pushed him towards this course of action. They had chemistry, and it was more than as just friends. That night was going to live on in his mind for years to come.

Looking over the setup he'd put together, Don was pleased with what he'd managed to accomplish. It didn't look overly cheesy like in movies or on TV, but it was intimate and friendly. His apartment didn't have much room, but he did have space for a small table and chairs, off to the side of the living room. Most of the other floor plans in his building had an expanded kitchen that took up that small area, but Don had taken the apartment for that specific reason. He didn't cook - didn't even try anymore - so a tiny kitchen wasn't much of a hardship.

A knock at the door grabbed his attention. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

~!~

Hours later, Don was wondering why he'd been so nervous. Dinner had been nice, once Don assured her it was from a nearby restaurant and not any sudden desires of his to cook. He'd smiled when she tentatively sniffed the wine-looking liquid in her glass, and then blushed when she realized it was juice. After a few hesitant starts, they'd fallen back into comfortable conversation as they ate. Every now and then he'd sneak a peek at her, and was constantly amazed that this woman was in his life.

Then he'd have a moment of realization, where he knew that if he made the effort, she would be in his life for much, much longer. And she was definitely worth the effort.

"You've seen that movie a hundred times," he complained as she chose a well-worn favourite, but they both knew it was only for show.

“It's good,” she protested as he knew she would.

“It's a chick flick,” Don replied, taking his place on the couch as she finished setting up the movie.

“You like the sword fights,” she accused, and Don had to agree with that. It's what had made the movie enjoyable the first ten times, and bearable the next twenty.

Don watched as she moved to the couch to take her usual seat, then hesitated. They hadn't had a problem with personal space since the very start of their friendship when they were just getting comfortable with each other, yet it appeared that Willow was having some issues. He saw her biting her lip, looking between the space next to him, and the space at the end of the couch, trying to decide which to go for. Don settled back into the cushions, one arm flung up along the back.

Willow looked at him questioningly, and Don tried desperately to keep his inner amusement off his face. Don figured they'd passed the 'touching means I like them' stage, but it was interesting to see Willow try to handle it.

Apparently he hadn't kept his amusement as hidden as he'd hoped, because Willow glared at him indignantly, causing him to smile. She gave a little huff of irritation before taking her customary place next to him, resting in the curve of his arm. Don just settled in closer and watched the movie.

Just like any other time, she squeezed his hand during the cliff-climbing scene, hid her face in his shoulder at the fire swamp and closed her eyes when it was time for the weird life-sucking water machine. And despite having seen the movie dozens of times, she still gave a happy little sigh when the couple kissed at the end.

The credits had barely started rolling when he shut it off, turning to the woman who had curled up next to him sometime during the first sword fight. She looked up at him nervously, biting her lip as she tried to figure out what to do next.

“Well, I shou-” Don didn't let her finish, giving in to his desire to kiss her. He'd been good all night, wanting her to feel comfortable and not pressured, but he needed to at least kiss her and relive the electricity he remembered from that first night.

It didn't take long for Willow to get involved, hands clutching at his back as he deepened the kiss. Cupping the back of her head, he tilted her head to lock their lips together. He was barely breathing, so intent on her lips, not wanting to break away for even a second.

He heard a small whimper emerge from her throat, then one of her hands was on his head, pulling him in closer. Blood rushed away from his brain in that instant, and before he realized what he was doing, he had her pushed into the couch cushions. Willow didn't really seem to mind as she managed to work a leg out from under him, wrapping it around his hip and pulling him in closer.

Don finally broke away from her lips, only to place sucking kisses along her throat and collar bone, nudging the edge of her shirt out of the way. He could feel her ragged breathing through the vibrations in her neck, every breath pushing her breasts firmly against his chest.

Moving back towards her ear, Don whispered, “Stay with me tonight.”

For a minute he didn't think she would answer, and he wondered if he was going too fast, but 'we can just cuddle' was not a phrase he was willing to introduce into his vocabulary.

Raising his head, Don looked into her wide, green eyes, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

“Okay.”

Don smile and kissed her again.

End Part 7


	9. Chapter 9

Megan watched Don out of the corner of her eye, fingers pausing on her keyboard. She subtly pulled on the headphone cord, cutting off the sounds of Bono to better hear the conversation Don was having on his cell. It was just the latest in a long line of calls Don had been having in recent weeks, and it didn't take Megan more than a minute to put it all together.

His smile gave him away every time.

"-suit's on the bed...Just get a cab here - I should be done by then....We won't be late. I promise....See you soon."

Megan stared unseeing at her monitor as she realized that Don's new girlfriend - well, not so 'new', really - she was coming here. Megan would finally be able to see - and meet and talk to - the mysterious red head who had managed to snag Don's interest. She was practically dying to meet this woman, and was very proud of herself that she'd managed to restrain the urge to prod him for information.

Her profiler side had come out, and she'd been carefully watching Don these past weeks. He'd been calmer, more focused and above all, happier. He was smiling and laughing more, and the dark looks that would overcome him occasionally were coming less and less. It was too soon to make any judgements, but so far Megan was liking this woman.

Now, if she could only get a name.

Seeing Don head back to his desk, Megan turned her attention back to her own report and the many pages she had yet to write. It had been a long day, and wouldn't be over until the paperwork was done. They'd just closed a simple, but long case, and once again Megan was cursing the FBI for requiring a separate report on the psychological aspects of everyone involved. It meant that Colby and David were done long before her and Don, because the only thing that matched her paperwork, was that of the lead agent.

Seeing Colby and David packing up for the night, Megan grabbed her coffee cup and headed to the break room, stopping by the boys' desks on her way.

"Heading out so soon?" she asked with a smile.

"We've been here for over fifteen hours. I'm going home," said David, sounding supremely happy with that fact. They'd been called out at four in the morning, and were all looking forward to going home for the night.

"Me, too. I am done," added Colby.

"I think you two might want to stick around for a little while longer," she said, unable to keep the teasing lilt from her voice.

Colby looked at her strangely before asking, "And why would we want to do that?"

"So you can meet Don's new girlfriend," she said with a wide smile.

"Don has a new girlfriend?" Now she had their attention.

Holding back a giggle, she said, "Guess you'll have to stay and find out."

Megan headed off to the break room for more coffee, knowing that they would be at their desks 'working' when she came back.

Sometimes it was just too easy.

~!~

It seemed like hours went by before the person of interest stepped off the elevator. Megan had been keeping an eye in that direction, trying to not jump up every time someone came to their floor.

Who knew this many people spent their Friday nights at the FBI?

Finally her patience was rewarded, and Megan spied Don's mysterious redhead arriving, dressed to the nines in a beautiful green dress and carrying a suit bag. The woman paused for a moment searching the room for someone - Megan didn't need to guess who. When she finally found Don working intently at his desk, the delighted smile that lit the redhead's face caused Megan to smile herself.

Her intent perusal of the newcomer had garnered Colby and David's attention, and Megan could practically feel them searching out what had caught her eye. But before they could say - or do - anything, the redhead made her way over to Don's desk, calling out his name. The smile he gave her in return made Megan realize that even though they'd only been a couple for a few weeks, Don was falling faster than she'd ever seen.

"Hey, good timing. I just finished," Don greeted, his voice carrying easily in the mostly empty office. He turned in his chair to meet her, "Wow. Look at you! You look beautiful."

She seemed startled for a second before smiling and looking anywhere but at Don. "Thank you."

Don was apparently use to this reaction, as Megan watched him swallow a small laugh and look at her fondly.

"Ok, here's your suit," she said, holding out the suit bag. "If we hurry, we can make it before the dancing starts and everyone notices we're late."

"Don't worry, we won't be late."

Don took the bag, and turning, finally noticed that Megan, David and Colby were watching the exchange with avid interest.

"Guys," he drawled out, and Megan heard the reprimand in the tone. "What are you still doing here?"

It was a valid question, because Colby and David were usually long gone by the time Don was finished writing his reports.

"Oh, you know. Paperwork," said Megan, daring him to call them on it. Raising her eyebrows in expectation, Megan motioned to his companion, hoping he'd get the hint.

Narrowing his eyes at her, Don introduced them so Megan would finally have a name to go with the face. "This is Willow. Willow, this is David, Colby and Megan."

"Hi. It's good to finally meet you." said Willow, giving them all a little wave. "Don talks about you all so much."

"Really? Cause he never mentioned you at all," Megan said with a toothy grin, poking her tongue out a bit. She just smiled wider when Willow blushed and avoided eye contact, before turning to Don and prodded him into moving.

"Go. Change."

Don was smart enough to give in gracefully, saying "I'm going, I'm going," with a laugh in his voice.

"So. Willow," drawled Megan once Don was out of sight. Pushing a chair towards Willow in invitation, Megan leaned closer to her, resting her chin on her hand. "Big party tonight?"

"Um, yeah. My company's hosting a release party for our latest software package. All the upper management and investors will be there, as well as the entire development team," she said, sitting down. Colby and David had rolled their chairs in closer - one of the advantages to sharing neighbouring cubicles - but seemed content to allow her to lead the 'interrogation'.

"And where do you fit into the grand scale of tonight?" asked Megan, trying not to let her confusion show. She'd had the impression that Willow worked in a coffee shop, as that's where Don had gone that night he'd hijacked her in the Suburban.

"I did some work on the network firewall we're releasing," said Willow. Megan watched her playing with the strap of her purse, and wondered if the nervous habit was surfacing because of the oncoming party or from meeting Don's friends and co-workers. It was a toss up, really.

"Is that an FBI ID badge?" asked David suddenly, motioning to the ID card clipped to her purse. Megan cursed at herself for not realizing sooner that it wasn't a visitor's pass, but a staff ID card.

"I work part-time down in the basement," explained Willow.

Megan's brows rose in surprise at that, because, "Three jobs?"

Willow looked at her sharply, and Megan mentally slapped herself for giving that much away. At no time had she mentioned the coffee shop or a third job.

"That night Don went to the coffee shop," Megan added, hoping that it would be enough of an explanation. Assuming Don didn't make a habit of dropping by the coffee house in the evenings, though an excess of caffeine would explain some things.

By the red hue colouring her face, Megan figured Willow knew exactly what night she was referring to.

"You were there?"

Megan hadn't meant to embarrass her, and felt bad about bringing it up, but the smile on Willow's face told her the memory wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"I was in the car when Don decided he needed some coffee," Megan confided. "Though he usually only drives at those speeds when we're chasing a suspect."

It was apparently the right thing to say, as Willow developed a big smile.

Putting off Colby's questioning with the wave of a hand, Megan turned the conversation back to work. "So, three jobs?"

"Only part-time. I needed to meet a wider range of people and learn to interact with them, so a job at Java Bean was a good choice," she said, shrugging her shoulders like it was no big deal. Megan also took notice of the phrasing she'd used. 'Need' instead of 'want', and 'learn to interact with people', which implied she was trying to deal with a deficit in her personal and social education. The more she learned, the more Megan began to understand that Willow was more complicated than most of Don's previous girlfriends.

"You don't meet a lot of people working for the FBI?" asked Colby, nudging his chair closer.

"I'm stuck in the basement the whole time," said Willow, referring to the IRU that encompassed the majority of the sub-levels. "I'm around computer geeks here, computer geeks at Arctic Morgan - I wanted to meet a different class of caffeine addicts."

Megan smiled at the small joke, mentally crossing out 'smart' and replacing it with 'very smart and very competent', because Arctic Morgan only hired the best. The computer company was pumping out some of the best software on the market for both the public and the government. They were very specialized, and very good.

"How'd you manage to talk Don into going to this thing tonight?" asked David, deliberately changing the subject. It was a valid question, though. It was an open secret that Don hated dressing up, managing to avoid the annual FBI Christmas Ball five years running, among other things. Megan secretly thought one of the reasons Don wasn't trying to climb the Assistant Director career ladder was because of the dress code. Give him a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a badge and a gun, and Don was happy to run around LA putting criminals behind bars, but try to dress him up and parade him around, well that was just asking for trouble.

Though apparently Willow thought differently or at least thought David was an idiot for asking. "I asked him," she said while giving David a look that said 'Are you sure you're an FBI agent?'. It was a sentiment Megan was sharing at the moment.

"The last time I went to a company party alone, every guy under the age of thirty decided that I 'looked lonely'," Willow explained, wrinkling her nose in remembrance.

"Hitting on you all night?" Megan sympathized, having been in similar situations. Once they knew you could leave them bleeding and crippled on the ground in under ten seconds, they tended to leave you alone for the most part. Usually. Some got more excited, which made Megan want to hit them harder.

"Yeah, and it wasn't even the computer guys; they were in their little group discussing the finer points of Doctor Who and World of Warcraft," she said. "It was the weenies from finance and marketing, who figured I would just swoon at their feet when they mentioned their penis-mobiles."

At that Megan had to laugh, even as Colby and David started to look uncomfortable.

"So Don's around to scare off all the would-be suitors."

"Uh-huh. My big, bad FBI boyfriend will be there to protect me." Willow said smiling. They were apparently still in the 'everything is wonderful' stage of their relationship, and Megan was happy for her and Don. And she really hoped this relationship would last. Don needed someone in his life that wasn't family or a co-worker. Already his relationship with Willow was different, starting from the very beginning when they became friends. She didn't think that Don had gone the friends-then-lovers route with any of his previous relationships (co-workers-then-lovers was altogether different), and that might make all the difference in the end.

"You only love me for my badge," came Don's teasing voice from a few feet away. Willow turned to look at him, and Megan could clearly see the embarrassment on her face.

"And you look hot in a tux," said Willow, standing up. It was then that Megan realized Don wasn't just wearing a suit; he was fully decked out in a nicely tailored tuxedo.

It was apparently a black tie soiree, and Don was pulling out all the stops.

"You don't look so bad yourself," said Don as he held out a hand. "In fact, you look amazing, Willow."

Don pulled her towards him, smiling down at her the entire time.

"You said that already."

"No, I said you looked beautiful," he reminded her. "Upon closer evaluation I feel the need to change my original statement."

"Hmph. Smooth talker," she accused, but Megan could tell she was pleased. Don certainly knew how to turn on the charm, she'd give him that.

"You ready?" he asked her. At her nod, Don said their farewells and left, pulling Willow in close to him.

"Megan, what do you know?" accused Colby the instant the elevator doors had closed.

"I know many things, Granger. You'll have to be more specific."

"Don't play dumb, Megan. You're too smart for that," said Colby.

"And neither of us is buying it," added David.

"Sweet talk won't get you anywhere, boys," she said, though in reality she was dying to gossip.

After some silent, pointed looks from her team mates, Megan finally caved. "This stays between us."

Don's new girlfriend was too tasty a piece of gossip to keep to herself for long.

End Part 8


	10. Chapter 10

For once, Willow was having the time of her life at a company party. The music was good, the people were interesting to talk to - when they weren't talking about work - and the hors d'oeuvres were delicious. But then, that was par for the course when Arctic Morgan threw an extravagant party. The difference this time was that she had someone to share it with.

Don was an excellent date, and was proving to be a master at small talk. Willow figured he'd honed his skills at many functions like this over the years, as well as his years of interrogating suspects. No matter the origin, she loved him for that. He managed to steer away from embarrassing or personal conversations, moving them from group to group in a timely fashion until she realized they'd spoken to most of the people in the room.

All this was interspersed with the occasional dance, where Don would sweep her onto the floor and hold her close. She was enjoying this party far more than any in the past, and it was all because of Don.

When the CEO had done the official release announcement earlier, Don had held her hand the entire time, making her heart beat like mad. It was a common experience since they'd officially become a couple. Willow had felt like a thirteen year old in love with her first crush, ever since that first dinner as a 'couple', and didn't know what to make of it. She supposed in some ways she _was_ like that sappy thirteen year old, this being her first real romantic relationship that she could remember. She couldn’t help that being near him made her feel all immature and girly. Her heart sped up every time Don did something boyfriend-like, and her mind kept drawing out elaborate fantasies of their rose-coloured future. Every time she said 'boyfriend' out loud, she couldn't stop the ridiculously sappy smile and giggle that emerged.

Milo was getting sick of it, but his girlfriend Patty thought it was cute.

Don just smiled and kissed her.

"Ready for something to eat?" he asked her as they left the dance floor.

"Please."

They were waylaid enroute to the food table by Jack Munroe, the CEO of Arctic Morgan, and his wife.

"Ms Rosenberg, it's good to see you here tonight," he said, motioning for drinks from a passing waiter.

"And you brought a date," teased his wife.

"Now, Annalise, don't embarrass the girl," he chided.

"This is Don Eppes. Don, this is Jack and Annalise Munroe - he's the CEO of Arctic Morgan," Willow introduced.

"Ah, yes. Willow's mentioned you," said Don, shaking their hands.

“Really? Well she's never mentioned you,” said Jack, giving Don a thorough look over, as if determining his worthiness. Jack was a little over protective of her at times, but Willow was rarely bothered by it.

“Oh, Jack,” laughed his wife, hitting him lightly on the arm. “Willow rarely talks about her private life.”

“True, true,” laughed Jack, and Willow felt herself smile. She'd met these two her first day at Arctic Morgan, and hadn't realized until later that it was an unusual occurrence. They'd taken a personal interest in her from the start, and it was apparently on Jack's approval that she'd gotten that first contract position. Her history made her a problematic hire, as she'd discovered at the FBI. But Jack had taken a chance on her, for which she'd be forever grateful.

“Have you given any more thought to our proposal?” asked Jack, turning serious for a moment. He was a hands-on manager, keeping track of every project the company had going. Willow knew it was a rare occurrence for the CEO to have knowledge and understanding of each project his company was working on, but it had worked successfully for the last fifteen years.

“I'm still thinking it over,” she told him as diplomatically as possible.

“What's this?” asked Don, turning to look at her questioningly.

“We've asked Willow here, to start work on a stalled project full-time,” said Jack. “We're still waiting to hear her answer.”

“Willow? That's great news,” said Don, sounding happy and excited for her. _She_ was happy and excited, but was stalling on making a firm decision. “Isn't it?”

“No, it is. It's great,” she said, casting a quick glance to the older couple. “I just – it would mean leaving the FBI.”

Don met her eyes, and for a moment it felt like they were the only two in a room full of people. Her heart started to beat faster when he smiled, and she wondered why she'd been so scared to tell him. Don looked happy for her, and confused by her reluctance.

“Willow, this sounds like a great opportunity,” he said. Don knew how much not being able to get a college degree had hurt her job prospects, but here and at the FBI they'd overlooked that, willing to hire her based on her skills, not her education. And now she was being given the chance to further her career even more. “You should take it.”

“Really?” she asked, her pulse starting to race. “I – we won't be in the same building, anymore,” she finished off lamely.

“Easy lunch dates are no reason to turn this down,” he said, squeezing her hand and smiling.

Her hesitation was really more about the huge change her life was about to take. She'd be going from three jobs to one, already having given her two weeks at the Java Bean. That job had never been about the money, but learning to deal with a wide range of people. However, even before starting this thing with Don, she'd found her free time in short supply. Her life was no longer about work, meeting people and learning about what she had lost. She had good friends, hobbies, co-workers, and now a boyfriend.

She'd been ready to leave the Java Bean, but hadn't even considered moving on from the FBI. Don was right; this opportunity was too good to let pass because it wasn't simply another contract. Jack and the others in the original meeting had made it clear that they wanted to hire her on full-time. This was a long-term offer, and would provide some stability in her life, both financially and professionally.

“Okay,” she said, smiling at Don in return. Turning to Jack and Annalise, she said, “Okay. I'll do it.”

The smile on Jack's face was warming, and Willow felt like she was dancing on air. This night was turning into the perfect evening, and it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

“Excellent! You'll need to sign some papers and fill out some forms--” began Jack, who was always so captivating when talking about a new project or idea.

"Oh Jack, talk about that next Monday. Let's not monopolize the young couple with talk of work," chided Annalise. "I'm sure they want to get back to dancing."

"Actually, I was going to go see how the guys were doing," Willow said with a big smile she couldn't seem to wipe off her face. She motioned to the cluster of twenty-something men in the back of the ballroom who were too engrossed in their discussion to realize a party was going on around them. "I promised I'd dance with them if they'd refrain from getting into a slap-fight over C++ versus Java."

"And for that we are all heartily grateful," said Jack, clearly remembering the Christmas party.

Giving Don's hand a last squeeze, she started to head towards her co-workers.

Of course, that was when the gunfire started.

End Part 9


	11. Chapter 11

Don realized he'd been shot at far too many times, when pushing Willow to the ground, scanning the room for threats and reaching for the gun that wasn't there, were all done in one smooth move and without conscious thought.

People were screaming and trying to run, causing more confusion in the already crowded ballroom.

“Don?” Willow's quiet voice drew his attention back to her. She had a tight grip on his jacket, and he could feel her trembling beneath him.

“You okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low. At her nod, he stood slowly, pulling her up, keeping his body between hers and the room at large. More shots and yells from the assailants had managed to stop the panicked stampeding of the guests, but cries and screams still filled the air. Whoever the gunmen were – and there had to be more than one – they weren't very experienced at crowd control.

“What's going on?” asked Willow in his ear, pressing up against his back as she looked over his shoulder. The tremble had disappeared from her voice, but she still had a white-knuckled grip on the back of his suit.

“I'm not sure,” Don answered slowly, counting five – no, six – black-clad gunmen with large automatic weapons. “Six, covering the main exits,” he murmured to himself, shuffling Willow closer to the nearest wall. He wanted something solid at his back.

_ “Everybody down!”_ one of the gunmen yelled.

Don took the order as his cue to crouch down, along with everyone else in the room. The shout had evoked more screaming and crying, which resulted in more threatening gun waving.

“Don?” Willow whispered in his ear as the noise level dropped significantly with every menacing wave of a gun. Don angled his body away from the intruders and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Hiding the device with his body, he silently cursed the 'No Service' printed on the glowing screen. _Great._

“Nothing?” asked a second voice, and Don looked up to see Jack Munroe sidling closer, holding his wife behind him as they moved.

“Jammed,” Don suggested, putting the useless phone back in his pocket.

“What do you think they're using?” Willow asked from his back, sounding calmer by the minute. At any other time he would be curious as to her calm under fire, but right now he was simply glad. The room was filled with quietly sobbing people, and he was relieved that Willow wasn't one of them. Annalise looked close, but seemed to have latched onto the calm around her.

“What?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the intruders as they seemed to get organized.

“Would they be jamming all radio and cell signals or just certain frequencies?”

Don wasn't sure why that was important – most of the guests would have had cell phones, and the downed security would have been on their own internal frequencies, all of which would have to be taken down if they had wanted any chance of success.

“Probably a commercial jammer for the cell phones,” Don answered. “Which they could modify for specific radio signals. Yeah, look, see – they have radios to stay in contact with each other, so they had to have specifically targeted the security band.”

“But a cell phone jammer would only be targeting the phones on the frequencies that the cell companies use?” she asked, and Don wondered what was going on in her head.

“Yeah. It's impossible to jam every frequency.”

“We need to get over to Darren and the rest of the guys,” Willow told him, pulling at his back in the direction she wanted him to look.

“Why?” he asked, wondering why she wanted to head over to the computer guys.

“Some of the guys have 'special' phones,” she said. Don could feel her pressing her mouth and nose into his shoulder, and reached behind him to seek out her hand. A quick squeeze and he felt her release a shuddering breath against his back. “They've hacked into some of the old satcoms, and use them instead of the phone companies.”

“So they'd be on a different frequency?” Don felt her nod against his shoulder, and started to work on a plan.

“They're coming in this direction,” said Jack at his side. Don noted that the CEO had the same look in his eyes that he'd seen in senior agents and veterans that had seen heavy action. It was the same look Colby got when he went into a dangerous situation – calculating the best and most efficient way of disposing of the threat.

“Don, did you bring your badge?” Willow asked, and looking up, Don suddenly realized the danger. They were going around the room collecting wallets and jewelry from all the guests. If they ID'd him as a federal agent, his continued lifespan could be counted in hours. Maybe minutes.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, wondering how he could ditch the leather wallet without drawing attention to himself.

“Give me your badge.”

“What?”

Don felt her free hand glide up and under his suit jacket, creeping around his waist. “Give me your badge,” she repeated. Don slid his hand unobtrusively underneath his jacket and slipped the leather wallet from his inside pocket into her waiting hand.

He felt her hand withdraw, his heart speeding up as she stepped away from him. The quiet rustle of clothes had him curious, but he refrained from turning around to see what she was doing. Soon enough she was back, gripping his hand again.

The intruders were close enough for Don to recognize more details, and it was all Don could do not to roll his eyes. These guys were amateurs. Sure, they had big guns and loud voices, but that was the most professional thing about them. They wore cheap ski masks with a loose enough weave to tell skin colour, they called each other by nicknames - like 'Pancho' and 'Rex' – instead of remaining nameless, and instead of black fatigues, they had on long-sleeved shirts, black jeans and dark sneakers. One of them was wearing boots, but they had shiny steeled toes. To top it off, the bag they were using to collect the guests' valuables in looked like a couple of pillow cases dyed black.

They eventually arrived at Don, and he passed over his wallet and valuables, as did Willow, Jack and Annalise – though her hand shook as she dropped her wedding ring into the bag. The men passed by without incident, and once they were far enough away he turned slightly to Jack.

Before he could say anything, Jack pursed his lips and said, “If my security team was overtaken by these rank amateurs, they're all fired.”

“There's gotta be something else going on,” Don said, feeling in his gut that this wasn't what it seemed. These guys didn't have what it took to burst into a high security party and rob the entire guest list.

He was distracted further by the flurry of arms and legs further down the line, as one of the guests refused to give up her necklace. This resulted in one of the robbers attempting to backhand her with the automatic rifle, but being the amateur that he was, ended up firing off a round.

It wasn't until all the screaming died down that he realized anyone had been shot.

End Part 10


	12. Chapter 12

“Melanie? Melanie! Oh my God! Somebody help!”

Willow froze at those words, looking over towards where the crowd was starting to gather. The person calling for help was Suki, which meant that it was Melanie from the front desk. A nice woman who was only slightly older than Willow, but had two kids and a husband who was babysitting them tonight.

Watching the robbers fall apart in the aftermath, Willow could totally see what Don and Jack had been talking about. The guys were freaking out, as if suddenly realizing that this was all real and not some video game.

Over the crowd, Willow caught Darren's eye. He made a quick gesture towards his head with a hand, followed by a nod. It took a few seconds before she realized he meant that he'd called for help. Willow relayed that message to Don, and felt his shoulders relax a bit. Not a lot, but it was more than she had expected.

Looking back toward Melanie, Willow felt her heart speed up as Suki started to cry. Suki brushed a stray piece of hair off her face, leaving a smear of blood in its place. Willow bit her lip in indecision, wondering if she should go over and help. She knew instinctively that Don would object, but a woman's life was at risk and she could help.

“Oh my God – Melanie! Wake up! Please wake up!” More people started to panic, and Willow made up her mind.

Slowly standing up, Willow heard Don hiss her name in warning but couldn't pay him any attention. Her shaky rising had drawn the attention of one of the gunmen, and he had his weapon pointed straight at her.

“Get back down!”

“I can help her,” she announced, glad that her voice revealed nothing of the terror underneath.

“Why should we care?” asked a second one, all condescending and arrogant.

“If she di-dies, you'll be charged with murder,” Willow said, praying they couldn't feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“Bullshit,” said the second one, levelling his gun at her as well. Something about the sight of those weapons aimed at her with the full intention of killing her if she provoked them, caused something to harden in her. Possibly another unknown body-memory from when she still had a full memory to work from, but it gave her the strength to push down her fear. She hadn't let anything she didn't remember rule her actions, and she wasn't about to start now.

“If a death results during the commission of a crime, it's automatically first degree murder,” she said, hoping that it was close enough to the truth – it was hard to remember details when adrenaline was flooding her system.

“You a cop?” he asked, griping his gun tighter.

“I watch a lot of TV.”

“I think I remember hearing that, man,” added a third guy.

The second guy seemed to be a sort of defacto leader, so when he went silent with indecision, Willow repeated her statement from earlier. “I can help her.”

It seemed to take an eternity, but he finally nodded and motioned her over with his gun. She really wanted to look back at Don, grab his hand for comfort, but she didn't dare.

She made her way on shaky legs, feeling her blood trembling in her veins with each step. People moved out of her path as she made her way to the still and bloody form on the floor.

Kneeling beside the woman, mindless of the blood soaking into her new dress, Willow took a deep breath and tried to remember everything Milo had taught her.

_Stay calm,_ she heard in her mind. _You're not going to do anyone any good if you start panicking._

She looked at Melanie's unnaturally still form, and tried to focus on the details, not the person. If she let herself think about sunny, bright Melanie and the chocolate she would sell from her desk to support her son's school, she would break and be useless.

The bullet hole was easy to find, despite the blood; a neat, round hole in the white fabric at the shoulder that was rapidly turning the dress red. Reaching over, Willow ignored the way her hands were shaking, and ripped the fabric open at the hole. The bullet had made a messier impact on the flesh than it had on the dress, and was still pumping blood through the opening.

It had gone through the chest, below the heart, but Willow didn't know enough anatomy to determine if it had gone through a lung. Though she really hoped it hadn't.

“I need something to stop the bleeding,” she called out, surprised at the steadiness of her voice. She pressed down on the wound with as much force as she dared, until several cloth napkins – no doubt smuggled from the buffet table – were thrust at her.

Taking them in silence, she wadded them up and pressed them against the wound. The flow of blood was slowing, but only because there wasn't much left to pump out.

There was also the disconcerting lack of movement from Melanie's chest.

“Suki,” she called out to the woman who was cradling Melanie's head. She had to repeat herself, her voice sharp and designed to grab her attention. “I need you to come over here,” motioning with her head. “Press on this. Hard.”

While Willow knew she had a dozen people to choose from, sitting in a circle around them and watching with big, scared eyes, Willow figured Suki was the one she should concentrate on. She'd never been in a hostage situation – or any situation remotely similar to this (that she could remember) – but she figured that getting Suki quiet and focussed could only be in everyone's best interest. Her high-pitched whimpers were grating on Willow's nerves, and the guys with the guns probably weren't faring any better.

Once her hands were free, Willow moved up to check Melanie's breathing, only to find there was none. This part of Milo's training she remembered, as he'd drilled it into her head since day one.

Tilt the head. Listen for breath. Check the pulse.

Her pulse was faint but there, and Willow let herself have the barest of smiles.

Taking a breath, Willow leaned over and breathed once. Twice. Then stopped to listen. Hearing nothing, she tilted the head back again, making sure the airway was open. She breathed one, then two, watching to see if she was giving breath to the lungs, or the stomach.

“Come on. Breathe,” she whispered, her voice sounding unnaturally loud amongst the silence around her.

Still no sign of breathing from her patient, but the pulse was there. Still faint, but still there.

Willow repeated the movements again, knowing that she would continue to breath for this woman until someone forced her to stop or she started breathing on her own.

Luckily, Melanie decided to accommodate her by sucking in a small, rasping breath. Then another. And any elation Willow felt disappeared as she listened to the wet, raspy breaths that told her there was fluid in her lungs. Probably blood.

She looked around quickly, scanning the faces of the onlookers, and picked out the one that looked to be the least traumatised. Or at least he was hiding it better than the rest of them. Either way, he'd just been volunteered.

“You. Ethan. Come over here,” she said, hoping that was his name. She'd passed by him briefly in training and the lunch room, knowing he was from accounting but not much else.

“Did you see what I was doing before?” she asked when he'd scrambled his way over. He nodded, eyes wide. “Good. If she stops breathing again, do that until she either starts again, or I tell you to stop.”

At his nod of compliance, Willow moved back towards Suki, who had thankfully quieted down.

“The napkins are soaked,” Suki whispered hoarsely, the strain evident in her voice.

“That's okay,” Willow reassured. “It's the pressure that's important.”

At some point while she'd been getting Melanie back to breathing on her own, more of the crisp white napkins had materialized. Making another pad from some of the napkins, looked Suki in the eye.

“I need to check for an exit wound,” she said, cursing herself for not doing that first. “I'm going to roll her towards me slightly, but I need you to keep pressure on the wound.”

Suki’s nod was stilted but determined.

Willow reached across and wedged her hands underneath Melanie's chest. “On three. One. Two. Three.”

Willow pulled up slightly, using one hand to hold and the other to probe where the bullet should have emerged. She felt nothing but undamaged skin, and tried to decide if that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it meant that there was only bleeding out of one hole. On the other, it meant the bullet was still inside her.

“Ok, down,” she said to Suki, and they gently rolled her back into position. Picking up the pad of napkins she'd made moments ago – covered in smears of blood, transferred from her own hands – Willow leaned in close to Suki. “I'm going to take a look to see what damage the bullet did.”

She sounded more confident than she felt. She also hoped she was doing what she was suppose to, and not making things worse.

Suki nodded her understanding, and when Willow motioned to her, she pulled back. Willow lifted the blood soaked napkins away, peering at the raw damage done by the bullet. The flow of blood had slowed to a trickle, but that still didn't comfort Willow as Melanie's breaths were getting more watery by the minute. The tissue was starting to look inflamed and red, though that didn't mean anything, really. But she couldn't find the bullet. Willow didn't want to poke around too much, because she was remembering something else Milo had said.

_Sometimes you're better off leaving something where it is. Pulling the knife out of someone can often cause more damage than how it got there – a knife in the heart may not kill you, but pulling it out will._

Willow figured the same thing went with bullets, and hoped she hadn't done more damage with all her 'help'.

“How do you know this stuff?” asked Suki quietly, her voice steadier.

“I lived with a paramedic for three years,” she said, applying the new wad of napkins to the wound. “He taught me what he knew.”

And she'd never been more grateful in her life.

Putting Suki back on applying pressure, Willow moved back towards Ethan.

“She doesn't sound very good,” he said. Willow nodded in agreement, noticing someone had placed a balled up jacket under her head.

“We need to get her chest elevated,” she said, grateful when more than one person flung their jackets in her direction.

Rolling and folding got the various clothing into a semblance of cushions, which Willow gently pushed under Melanie's chest. She managed to elevate her head and shoulders a few inches, and hoped that was enough to allow gravity to help her breath a little easier. It seemed to work, as the woman's breathing eased somewhat.

“Willow,” whispered Ethan, and Willow was mildly surprised that he knew her name. “They were talking about Level Twelve.”

Willow looked at him for a minute, wondering what he meant before clueing in. Level Twelve was the name of the eighth floor server room, where Arctic Morgan's most classified work was stored. It was a term that only someone familiar with the company would know, not random robbers who'd decided to rob a release party. There had to be more going on than a simple robbery, but there was nothing she could do at the moment. Her first priority was keeping Melanie alive until help could get here.

No sooner had she thought it, than a voice outside said, “This is the police. Come out with your hands up.”

_Huh. They really do say that in real life._

Flashing red and blue lights could be seen reflecting through the glass doors and windows along one side of the room, and Willow had never been happier to see them in her life.

Apparently the robbers didn't feel the same way, as they started waving their guns around and shouting at each other. It appeared that this wasn't in the plans, and they weren't sure what to do.

Somebody knew what to do, though, as the robbers on the periphery of the room suddenly dropped to the floor amid scuffles. Then shots rang out and Willow was too busy throwing herself over Melanie's body to pay attention to what was happening.

An eternity later, she heard a familiar voice call out, “Clear.”

Looking up, Willow saw Don moving around the room, armed with one of the robbers' guns. Several other people were doing the same thing, returning his 'clear' signal, and Willow recognized them as Arctic Morgan security. She wondered how the bad guys could have gotten past these security guys – who all looked perfectly healthy – before she realized that these were the ones off duty, attending the party.

She only hoped the ones who had been _on_ duty were all right.

Willow's attention was pulled away from the brilliant rescue by her boyfriend – well, _she_ thought it was brilliant – when the wet, raspy breaths from Melanie stopped again.

_No!_

She may have said that out loud, as several heads turned in her direction, but at the moment she didn't much care.

Pulling the stack of jackets out from underneath, Willow moved through the same routine as before, but felt her heart stop as she checked her pulse.

There was none.

“Don! We need an ambulance!” she shouted to the room at large, not bothering to look up.

Directing Ethan to breath for her, Willow waited for him to administer two breaths, then started a series of chest compressions.

Suki started whimpering again, and the noise level around her dropped. Relief and elation at the rescue was dying as they watched their co-worker and friend die by inches in front of them.

Her arms and shoulders were feeling the strain, each chest compression hammering at her hope. Her world had narrowed down to counting and compressions, listening to Ethan as he became Melanie's lungs while Willow became her heart.

Then a pair of EMTs slid in beside her, and her world focus widened again.

“How long has she been like this?” the first one asked, pulling out a defibrillator.

Willow opened her mouth to answer, but honestly couldn't. She had no concept of time; hadn't ever since the first shot had been fired and Don had thrown her to the ground.

Someone else answered, and Willow kept up her compressions.

End Part 11


	13. Chapter 13

Don watched his girlfriend do CPR with a determination he'd never seen before. He'd only heard bits and pieces of what had been going on around Willow once she'd made it over to the receptionist he'd only met once. His attention had been divided between his worry over Willow and the starting of a plan.

Jack Munroe had pointed out all the off-duty security people, though Don figured he would have been able to pinpoint them himself. They all had the same look of intense fury on their faces while their eyes were wary and calculating. It was the same look that was probably on his face.

A few hand signals later – Don silently congratulated Jack for only hiring former military or law enforcement as security - and they were ready if the opportunity presented itself.

The moment arrived sooner than he thought, when the perps broke down at the arrival of the police. It was all over faster than he thought possible. The attackers were down and restrained by security – well, the perps who were still alive. The security guys hadn't been interested in wounding as they'd armed themselves, aiming for the kill shot instead.

This was a side of his life that he hadn't wanted Willow to ever see, and he worried that she wouldn't understand or be able to deal with the person he became on the job. It was probably why he had stuck to dating fellow law enforcement personnel in the past, Robin being the one exception.

He would just have to wait and see.

Then he heard Willow yell for an ambulance and his adrenaline spiked again. Luckily there was an ambulance less than a minute out. The police outside were more than happy to clear the way for the paramedics once it had been determined that Don and the others weren't the instigators of the night’s violence.

Don continued to watch her trying to save the life of a friend and co-worker, and wondered if maybe Willow wasn't the only one who would have to deal with a new side of the other in this relationship.

She fell away from the EMTs, letting the professionals take over but still staring wide-eyed as they tried to get the woman's heart started again.

Walking around behind her, he saw the smears and puddles of blood on the floor. Willow seemed to be wearing a lot of it, her dress stained black, red smeared from her knees down, and up to her elbows. A streak or two across her cheek and forehead showed she'd tried to brush some hair away from her face, and Don felt his heart clench.

She should never have to look like this, devastation and panic warring in her eyes, covered in the blood of her friend.

Taking off his jacket, he dropped it around her shoulders. She looked up at him in surprise, as if suddenly realizing where she was. He knew that look. He'd seen it on a lot of cops and fellow agents, usually after their first real fire fight or shooting. She was on the verge of shock, feeling disassociated and fuzzy.

“Hey,” he said softly, watching her blink. Her mouth wobbled slightly, and he could see her eyes starting to glisten, but she pulled it all back in. Crouching down next to her, he wrapped his arms around her, not surprised to fell her trembling.

“You alright?” he asked.

“I will be,” she said, her eyes going back to where the paramedics were working.

“We have a pulse,” one of the EMTs said, relief in his voice. “Let's get her on a stretcher.”

Don felt Willow sag into him at the pronouncement, and tightened his embrace.

“Hey, where's my badge?” he asked after a minute. He knew the cops would want to see it, proof that he was who he claimed to be.

Willow looked at him in confusion for a moment before shaking herself aware. A small smile tilted her lips as she shifted in his arms. He watched as she rearranged herself, pulling the left side of her skirt higher and higher.

He watched as she revealed his leather wallet safe and snug, strapped to her inner thigh by a black garter.

“If this was any other time,” he said as he accepted the badge, his voice gravelly. Don had a thing about her legs. He'd never been the kind of guy who was attracted to a certain body part, but Willow was different. He adored her long, luscious legs and couldn't get enough of them, whether they were encased in tight jeans, being hinted at through a slit in her skirt, or wrapped tightly around his waist. It was one of the main things guaranteed to set him off, and one which Willow took shameless advantage off. The black thigh high stockings and garter belt were proof of that.

Willow just blushed and looked away, pulling her skirt back down.

“Willow,” said a voice off to the side. Don turned slightly to see a young man approaching. He was blond and thin, looking just as wrecked as every other party goer. “Did you tell him?”

“Ethan?” she asked, slightly confused. “Tell him...?”

“About Level Twelve.”

“Oh, right!” she said, and Don had a feeling his evening wasn't even close to being over.

“What's this about Level Twelve?” asked another voice, this time older and more authoritative. Turning his head, Don caught sight of Malcolm Harrison, the head of Arctic Morgan security. He had more than a few bruises to match the lump on the side of his head. Traces of blood on his collar and shirt told Don it had been bleeding at one point, and that the man hadn't gone down without a fight.

“Ethan said he heard one of the robbers say something about Level Twelve,” said Willow, motioning to where the live gunmen were being led out of the ballroom.

“One of them had an earwig,” Don added, remembering the glimpse of the communication device in the leader's ear.

“'Earwig'?” asked Willow, her face scrunching up in confusion.

“Two-way radio that fits in your ear,” Don explained. He looked back to Harrison, asking, “What's Level Twelve?”

“Our secure servers on the eighth floor,” he explained after looking at Don for a moment. “It houses all the data for classified projects past and present.”

“So maybe all this was simply a diversion,” Don posited, eyebrows raised at Harrison. “But why need a diversion in the first place?”

“You need special access to even get on the eighth floor, and then only a few people have the necessary codes to gain entrance to the server room itself. No one's allowed access outside of business hours, except project leads – a security alarm goes off automatically if anyone even tries,” he explained.

“But if there was already a security breach somewhere else and the alarm went off...” Don said considering, his mind already going through plans and routes.

“Then they would probably assume it was associated with what was happening here, not a Level Twelve breach,” added Harrison, his face darkening with each word.

The security head strode off with a curse, already snapping orders into his radio. Don saw that many of the security guards were injured in some way, and that there weren't enough cops around to risk pulling them off the floor and perimeter.

“Willow-” Don began, looking down at the red head in his arms.

“Go, Don,” she said, her eyes earnest.

“You sure? I can stay here-”

“No, I'm fine,” she replied. “Go do your job.”

After a minute, he nodded in agreement. There were plenty of cops and semi-functional Arctic Morgan security; she should be safe. More EMTs were arriving every minute, accompanied by more police sirens.

He gave her a quick kiss before getting up and following after Harrison.

Don was only vaguely surprised when Harrison handed him a weapon and tac vest without question. Harrison understood that Don couldn't just sit back and let others go into danger if he could help, and Don understood that Harrison was only letting him help because so many of his team were unable to.

The one and only time Don had come to pick up Willow, he'd ended up waiting around the lobby for twenty minutes and had an informal interview with the man. Whatever the purpose had been – and he still didn't know – the result had been his name on the approved visitor list for whichever floor Willow was working on.

Accepting the assault rifle, Don checked it over with a professional eye before grabbing a handful of spare clips to fill every available pocket. The security armoury was deceptively well stocked, which shouldn't have surprised him as Arctic Morgan was a large and successful defence contractor with many enemies and competitors.

He also grabbed a hand gun, with a few extra clips for that as well. Harrison nodded in approval, and Don didn't know what to make of that.

In no time, the heavily armed group was silently making their way up the emergency stairs, Harrison in the lead. For once, Don had no qualms about taking a back seat to the other man, knowing that he wouldn't trust anyone else to lead his people into danger. Harrison had the experience, knowledge of the terrain and the trust of the six men with him.

They entered the eighth floor as silently as they'd ascended the stairs, and the hairs on the back of Don's neck prickled. His instincts were telling him that something wasn't right. The others tensed up as well, telling him that he wasn't the only one.

They spread out along the floor, bypassing large offices with multiple desks in each. Noises came from ahead of them, and Don tightened the grip on his gun. Harrison had briefed him that there was only one entrance to the server room, which required a swipe card and pass key to enter. He added that the door lock made an annoying beep when activated, meaning that anyone inside would know they were coming in.

They'd decided to simply toss in a couple canisters of knockout gas from the armoury and wait for them to either come out or drop unconscious.

It worked surprisingly well once the security guys popped the canisters and tossed them inside. They took up positions outside the doorway, waiting patiently for either the first perp to run out the door, or the five minutes required for the gas to fully dissipate. Harrison didn't want to go in guns blazing because not only was the door a bottleneck that would get his guys killed, but the servers themselves provided excellent coverage to hide behind. Also, Jack Munroe would kill him if he destroyed any of those servers, as several military contracts resided in them.

The first person to stumble out promptly collapsed and was pulled off to the side by two of Harrison's men. The next two came out almost simultaneously, but slightly more aware than the first one. They lasted a little longer than the first, but collapsed before they could raise their weapons.

They were the only ones to make it out the door as Don counted down the minutes. He wondered how many more were inside and if this was the end of their 'great caper'. He also wondered how they had managed to gain entrance to the server room, as he'd been led to believe that any form of tampering would immediately lock down the servers.

Harrison gave the signal when the five minutes was up, and they moved into the server room, Don following closely behind Harrison.

Don swept the room thoroughly but efficiently, absently noting the slumped figures on the floor. He counted four bodies, plus the three out in the hallway. Passing by the first one, he was startled to see a gas mask nearby, as if the wearer had been unable to put it on in time.

Don felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and knew something wasn’t right.

Before he could warn anyone, a figure lunged out at the security guy covering his back, knocking the other man to the ground and sprinting for the door. Don raised his gun, but was struck from behind before he could get off a shot.

He was aware that a few of the others were fighting their own assailants, but couldn't spare the time to think of them right now.

He fell to his knees and felt an arm wrap around his neck, squeezing. He realized he had precious little time to get loose before he was unconscious or dead. Dropping his rifle, he aimed his elbow into his assailant's chest, hitting hard and often until he felt the grip loosen and he was free.

Don barely had time to draw in a breath before a boot landed in his chest, kicking him to the ground. He was very grateful to the tac vest, as it absorbed some of the shock. He'd only have bruised ribs, instead of broken.

He pushed himself up fast and hard, sweeping out his leg on the off-chance he'd hit something. His leg hit a solid mass, which was shortly followed by a thud. Don crawled over, trying to go for his hand gun, but his assailant tackled him first. They rolled around on the floor, trading punches and hits. Don felt more than one knee hit his back and rib cage, and managed to twist around and deliver a hit to the throat in retaliation. That knocked the other man sufficiently off-kilter for Don to put him in a headlock, rendering him unconscious, but not before the man tried Don's own tactic of elbow-to-ribs in a bid for freedom. Don simply held on tighter.

As the man slumped in his arms, Don let him drop to the floor, not caring about the dull thud of a head impacting the ground. Looking around, he realized that the rest of security was just finishing off the last of the thieves.

Harrison looked up from the body by his feet – twisted unnaturally at the neck – and raised his eyebrows in question. Don nodded that he was ok, trying not to groan as he stood up.

There was a throbbing pain in his side where he'd been hit one too many times, and he hoped like hell his ribs hadn't broken this time. It had been a while since he'd been in a hand-to-hand fight.

The sheer number of throbbing points on his body reminded him of why he should be grateful that most of his action took the form of gun fights.

End Part 12


	14. Chapter 14

Don lowered his arm with a wince as the nurse finished wrapping his ribs. How the evening had degenerated into a trip to the ER was no mystery to him, though he had to wonder how he kept finding himself in these situations. A night out spent accompanying his girlfriend to a work-related party had turned into a robbery gone wrong and a hostage situation, capped off by industrial espionage.

Don felt mildly better just thinking about how Jack Munroe was going to take his competitor apart piece by piece, and that was before the police had found a solid connection between the attackers and the rival software company. But still.

This was his night off, damnit!

He should be at home, wrapped around a red headed goddess in black garters, not sitting on a gurney while Nurse Hatchet failed at Bedside Manner 101.

“Are you done?” he asked snidely as she poked his ribs yet again. He was tired, sore, annoyed and coming down from an adrenaline rush. He was also missing his girlfriend. The cops had told him she'd gone to the hospital to be looked at, and one of the EMTs had said something about shock.

The nurse gave him a sour look before leaving, saying he was free to go.

Don slid off the gurney very carefully and slowly pulled on his shirt, ribs protesting the movement. He'd refused the good pain meds, settling for aspirin and a good night's sleep. Most agents he knew shied away from the heavy meds unless absolutely necessary, all of them having seen more than one colleague fall into their clutches. Cracked ribs did not require Percocet, no matter what the doctor said.

Just as he was buttoning up his shirt, the curtain was pulled aside and over walked Willow. She looked like he felt, and he had no doubt she'd been questioned by the police for hours like he had. The only difference was that her questioning had probably taken place in the ER, while his had been back at Arctic Morgan.

“Hey,” she said, sounding tired and relieved.

“Hey, back,” he replied, looking her over. She looked as tired as she sounded, dark rings already visible under her red-rimmed eyes. “How's Melanie?” he dared to ask.

“They think she'll pull through. She's in surgery now,” she said, stepping closer. “Her husband's here. So are her kids.”

Don closed his eyes in sympathy.

“Did anyone else get hurt?” she asked.

“A couple of bumps and bruises among the guests, worse for the security teams, but nothing serious,” he told her, noticing she was still wearing his jacket over her dress. The edges of the black jacket opened as she moved her arms, revealing the blood-stained dress underneath. A sudden, overwhelming mix of emotions overtook him at the sight. It was too confusing to sort out, so he went with the one he was familiar with. Anger.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?!” he snapped at her, barely cognitive of his raised voice.

Willow just looked stunned. “What?”

“There were men with guns – who had no problem shooting people – and you put yourself in their sights!” Even as he was speaking – yelling, really – he knew he should stop, but the panic and fear he'd been holding back since the instant she stood up in that ballroom was the only thing he could see.

“I-I was just-” she stuttered, as taken aback by his anger as he was, apparently.

“Were you even thinking?!” he shouted at her, arm waving in her direction. “You could have been killed!”

“Melanie was hurt. Dying!” she said, getting angry herself. He could see her eyes narrowing when she looked at him, and it only made his rage intensify.

“_You_ could have been hurt! _You_ could have been the one lying on the ground, bleeding to death!”

She just looked at him in silence, her face tight and eyes glistening.

“I couldn't do nothing,” she said quietly, her voice trembling but strong. “I couldn't just sit back and watch someone die while I had the ability to help. I just couldn't.”

Something inside Don broke at that, dissipating his anger in one fell swoop. Don moved forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

“I know you couldn't,” he said. “It's not in you to ignore someone in need; to not help someone who's hurt. It's one of the reasons I l--” Don's throat closed up on that, not sure he was ready to face his feelings, especially at a time like this. “I was scared,” he admitted, finally.

He could feel her relax in his arms, her face pressed against his neck.

“I was terrified,” she admitted as well, wrapping her arms around him. He could feel her entire body trembling as she spoke, griping him tighter as the trembling increased.

He hissed in pain when she pressed too hard on his newly bound ribs, pulling away from her slightly.

“Don?” she said, looking worried.

“A couple of cracked ribs, nothing serious. Promise,” he added, seeing that the worry didn't diminish. “Let's go home.”

Willow nodded in agreement, letting him lead her out of the hospital. His car was still in the Arctic Morgan parking lot, and he decided to leave it until tomorrow. Right now, getting back to his place was more important.

The cab ride back seemed to take an eternity but they eventually made it, though Willow looked like she was barely holding on. Her entire body shook as the evening caught up with her. There was shock, and then there was emotional shock, and Don suspected this was the latter. She'd probably held herself together by sheer determination, and with the ER being flooded by the injured from the party, the doctors had most likely let her get away with it.

They reached his apartment and Don immediately sent her to the shower, hoping that washing off the remainder of the dried blood would do her some good. While the shower was running, the dress, garter and stockings, her blood-stained shoes and his tux jacket all went into the trash, never to be seen again.

He changed himself, wincing at the pain the movements caused. Looking at the clock, he realized she'd been in the shower for too long, and went in to retrieve her.

Walking into the steam-filled room, he called her name, not surprised to hear muffled whimpering from behind the shower curtain.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured as he pulled back the curtain, seeing her curled in a ball under the spray. Turning off the water, he grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it, pulling her up and out of the room. Shutting the lights off as he went, Don laid her down on the bed, disentangling her fingers from his shirt as he tried to tuck her under the covers.

Climbing in beside her, Don pulled her up against him. She felt impossibly small in his arms, and Don had another moment of heart clench at the thought.

Murmuring reassuring, meaningless phrases into her hair, he was unsurprised when she started to quietly cry. He was trained to deal with situations like tonight, and he had the experience to know how to handle the after effects. Willow had no such training to fall back on. All she had was Don.

As she buried her face deeper into his chest, fingers gripping his shirt, Don promised himself that she would never have to go through an experience like that again.

Soon after, Don felt her crying slow to nothing as her body went limp. She was finally asleep.

Don felt his body begin to relax before it started its own occasional jerks. His own denied reactions were setting in, and he buried his face in Willow’s hair and held on tighter.

Days like this, he was glad he had someone to hold on to, to ground him in the moment.

Someone to hold on to him.

End Part 13


	15. Chapter 15

A pounding on the door seeped its way into his brain, bringing him to full consciousness. The room was brighter than it should have been for early morning, and a glance at the clock revealed why.

It wasn't morning.

Don wondered why he'd overslept so much, but a quick look at the red hair spilling across his pillow brought the memories rushing back.

Party. Gunmen. Blood. Hospital.

They hadn't gotten back until almost morning, and decided that neither of them would be any good at work today. He remembered calling Megan from the ballroom the night before, explaining what had happened.

Rolling out of bed, Don pulled on a pair of loose sweats and went to answer the door, remembering to close the bedroom door behind him.

Scratching his chest and yawning, he felt his ribs pull as he opened the door to find his father and brother, both looking equal parts irritated and hurt.

“Dad? Charlie? What's going on?” he asked. He debated whether letting them in was a good idea; this really wasn’t the best way for Willow and his family to meet.

“We dropped by the FBI for lunch – like you asked -” his father said pointedly, “Only Megan said you were taking the day off.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Lunch.” Don stepped back from the door in invitation, remembering his arranged lunch with his family. He'd been planning to tell them about Willow, but had forgotten after everything that had happened the night before.

“She said something about a robbery at some party last night?” said Charlie, curious and questioning.

“Some party with your _girlfriend_,” added his father.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about today,” Don said, closing the door behind them.

“Oh?” said his father, sounding slightly sarcastic.

“Her name's Willow Rosenberg,” said Don, moving towards the open kitchen area to make some coffee. He figured he wasn't the only one who needed some caffeine right now. “We've been seeing each other for a little over a month.”

“And it took you this long to tell us?”

“She's not who I usually go for,” Don admitted slowly as he finished prepping the coffee maker, setting it to brew.

“Oh?” asked his father, suddenly more interested than irritated.

Don opened his mouth to try and explain, but was interrupted by a soft voice calling his name. Looking over, he saw a sleep rumpled Willow in the doorway to his bedroom, wearing one of his shirts.

_God, she looked edible,_ Don thought. _If his family wasn't right there..._

He could have easily and cheerfully kicked Charlie out, but his dad was another matter entirely.

“Willow. Remember me telling you about my father and brother?” he called out, not the least surprised when she let out a strangled sound of horror, took a step back into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Don felt a smile break out across his face. Turning back to his father he said, “That was Willow.”

~!~

Alan barely caught a glimpse of a slim redhead before the door slammed shut. He did, however, catch a look at her face, wondering at the surprised/scared look he'd seen. He turned back to his oldest son, and frowned when he saw him smiling and silently laughing.

“Donny!” he reprimanded, though not too harshly. It had been awhile since he'd seen his son smile like that. Anyone who could bring that out in him, no matter the cause, earned a couple points in his book.

Don shook his head at a joke neither Alan nor Charlie was privy to, a small smile twisting the corner of his mouth. “She's a little nervous,” Don explained. “This wasn't how we had it planned.”

Alan wondered at the need for _planning_ a meeting between girlfriend and family, but he also wondered why it had taken Don more than a month to tell them about said girlfriend in the first place.

“So, how did you two meet?” asked Charlie. Alan could tell he was trying to mediate between the two of them. However, as subject changes went it was a good one, because Alan wanted to know the answer as well.

“Met her at work, actually,” said Don, and Alan had a worrying thought that this Willow was yet another fellow FBI agent.

“Really? I don't – I don't remember anyone by that name.”

“She works part-time down in IRU,” explained Don.

“What's the IRU?” Again, Alan blessed Charlie for his inquisitive nature. Charlie being Charlie meant that Alan didn't have to ask, which would make it sound like he was interrogating his oldest son about his newest girlfriend. Which he was.

“Information Retrieval Unit?” said Don in a tone that meant Charlie should know.

“I don't think I've heard of them before – what do they do?”

Alan watched an indulgent smile spread across Don's face, “They're the ones that get you those reams of data for all your math stuff.”

Alan cast a quick look at his youngest son and felt his lips twitch at the look on his face.

“What, you thought Colby and David spend all their time digging up three blocks worth of real estate prices for you? Or those reams of banking data you always ask for? We’ve got an entire department to do that stuff, who do it better and faster.”

“Oh.” Charlie's voice sounded small and taken aback, like his equations had suddenly rearranged themselves on him.

“Look, the coffee's almost ready,” said Don, moving away from the kitchen. “Why don't you guys have a cup and relax for a bit. I need to shower and get dressed, then we can go get a late lunch.”

“'We'?” asked Alan, stepping forward. “I do hope you're planning to include Willow in all this.” So far, this woman sounded a little off-type for Don, though Alan didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

“I'll ask, but I'm not going to make--”

“Of course I'll be there.” Alan turned to the bedroom door and got his first real look at his son's new girlfriend. She was petite and slim, but definitely a redhead. She looked almost delicate, if you didn't take into account her expression. Her lips were pursed in annoyance, her eyes narrowed as she stared intently at Don. “Why wouldn't I be there?”

“I didn't want to assume,” replied Don. Alan watched their interaction with a curious eye, noticing something vaguely familiar about the look his son was getting.

“You thought I'd hide in the bedroom from your family?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her as her eyes narrowed even more.

Yes, Alan was very familiar with the look on her face. It was the same look he'd often received from Margaret over the years; the one that said 'you're an idiot'.

Alan tried desperately to keep the smile off his face.

So far, he was getting a good feeling about this girl.

He was interested to see how Don would deal with this, and wasn't the least surprised to see his son walk over and put an arm around her while he whispered something too low for him to hear. Whatever he'd said had done the trick, because her expression smoothed out as Don talked, until he dropped a small kiss on her pursed lips and she pushed him away with a playful shove, “You smell.”

Alan waited until the bedroom door closed behind Don before turning his full attention on Willow.

“So, Willow,” he said, only realizing afterwards how ominous that sounded. It didn't help that she turned wide, panicked eyes on him.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked nervously, moving towards the pot that was nearly full.

“Why not?” said Alan, hoping a small smile would calm her down. This was a situation he hadn't been in before – one of his son's girlfriend scared to meet him. “Charlie?” he asked his other son, hoping for some support but not really expecting any. Charlie may be brilliant at math, but girls, not so much.

“Coffee? O-okay,” he said, sounding unsure of his answer.

Yeah. No help from that corner.

“So, Don said you work at the FBI?” Alan was trying his best to not sound like he was interrogating her.

“Uh-huh. Part-time in the basement.”

“Do you enjoy it? The work I mean,” Alan asked, watching as the coffee pot shook in her hand as she poured.

“For the most part,” she said with a shrug. “I do low-level stuff; pulling financial records, background checks and other data. It's interesting, more than anything. Gathering together bits of information from different sources to get a better picture of a person or situation. People think that if you change your name or move, then the past is behind you, but the information is always there. Everybody leaves a trace somewhere. Do you want anything in your coffee?”

Alan blinked at her for a moment, then said “Just black, thank you.” The way her hands were shaking, he didn't want to risk a sugar overload or anything. Charlie apparently picked up on the same thing, asking for black, though Alan knew he rarely took his coffee straight. Besides, recently Don always seemed to have the good coffee at his place and sullying it with sugar or milk seemed wrong.

Willow brought the mugs over to them, and Alan was hard pressed not to rush over and grab them from her. Her hands were shaking slightly, to the extent where some of the coffee splashed over the rim onto his hand.

“Don't worry about it,” he insisted as she started to apologize.

“I'm a little nervous,” she admitted as she wiped up the spilled liquid. Alan raised his eyebrows in query, hoping she would take the hint. “I've never met the family before.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he told her, suddenly wondering if she was younger than she looked and desperately hoping she wasn't. Willow was already on the young side in his mind, but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“It's never really been an issue before,” she told him as she poured herself a glass of juice.

“Not having any coffee?” he asked.

“Ooh, I'm not allowed to have coffee,” she said, the small smile on her face letting him know she was more amused than offended.

“Oh? And who decided that?” he said, feeling something in his chest loosen at her smile.

“Milo – my best friend,” she explained. “He gave me a cup of coffee once and decided I was to be banned for life.”

“Jumpy?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, and Alan had to smile at her exaggerated nodding as they all sat down in Don's living room.

“Why part-time?” Alan was startled to hear Charlie's voice, as he'd been silent this entire time. “You said you worked at the FBI part-time. What do you do the rest of the time?”

“I do some contract work for Arctic Morgan.”

“The defense contractor?” asked Charlie, the name suddenly clicking in his memory.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded, sipping at her juice. “I'm a software developer for them, but I mostly work on small, outsourced projects....” Willow trailed off after that, and Alan wondered what had captured her attention as she gazed off into space for a moment.

“Sorry. I forgot that I was offered a permanent position with them recently,” she said by way of explanation. “I decided to accept it last night.”

Alan felt his brow raise, wondering how you could forget something like that. The same look must have been on Charlie's face too, because Willow's eyes flicked between the two of them before determinedly avoiding eye contact.

“Other things took priority,” she said by way of an explanation.

“The armed robbery?” he inquired, remembering why Don wasn’t at work today. She made a small sound of agreement as she took another sip of her juice.

“You're okay, I take it?” he asked gently.

“Oh yeah. Hunky dorey,” she said with a patently fake smile. Willow may be fine physically, but Alan bet that mentally and emotionally she was still in shock. Charlie had been the same way after his first close call, but Alan was willing to bet that Willow wouldn't deal with it in quite the same way. No chalkboards, for one.

“We can go to lunch some other time,” he offered, not wanting to put any more stress on her. As much as he wanted to get to know her more, Alan understood that this was probably not the best time.

“What? No!”

“What's going on?” asked Don from the doorway, his hair still wet from the shower.

“Nothing,” announced Willow, perking up. “Just let me brush my teeth.”

Once she was out of earshot, Alan turned to Don and tried not to look guilty. He had made a conversational misstep, and he didn't know how bad it was.

“Dad?”

“I may have brought up the trouble from last night,” he told Don with a wince, feeling even more guilty at the hard look that overcame Don's face.

“One of her co-workers was shot,” Don explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Willow stood up to a roomful of armed assailants so she could provide first aid. Saved the woman's life.”

Alan could only blink in astonishment.

“Try to avoid mentioning it, if you can,” Don suggested. Alan nodded his agreement, understanding Willow’s behaviour a little better.

“So, lunch?” announced Willow as she returned, a big smile pushing away the bad memories and emotions that were still too close to the surface.

“There's an outdoor cafe a few blocks over that I've been dying to try,” said Alan, clapping his hands together as he plastered an eager look on his face.

Actually, the 'eager' part wasn't an act. He was starving.

End Part 14


	16. Chapter 16

As he cleared away the last of the dinner dishes, Alan heard the front door open and breathed a sigh of relief. Don was here, which meant another day he didn’t have to worry about some criminal’s bullets or bomb finding his oldest son.

Alan saw a similar look of relief pass over Willow’s face as Don called out his greeting, and wondered if being involved with a law enforcement officer would break her or make her stronger. Somehow, Alan didn’t see Willow crumbling, but he was still glad to see that she understood the dangers inherent in Don’s job.

“Sorry I’m late,” Don apologized as he came around the corner.

“Don’t be,” chided Alan, holding back a smile when Don leaned down to kiss Willow hello. This affectionate side of his son was something he appreciated seeing while he could. “Charlie forgot where the house was, too.”

Don smiled ruefully back at him, silently apologizing.

“Yeah, it gave me and Alan some quality bonding time,” teased Willow.

It had taken Willow a while to be able to relax around him, which Alan found curious, but his efforts had paid off. Willow thought nothing of stopping by the house without Don in tow, which was what happened tonight. A last minute development in a case had left Willow to make her way here for dinner with Alan, and the absent Charlie.

“Should I be worried?” joked Don, and Alan could almost see the wheels spinning in his head as he tried to figure out whether this was good or bad.

“Only if you still talk to Marshall Burke,” answered Willow with a straight face. Alan found he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the look of surprised dismay on Don’s face. Payback was definitely sweet.

“Tell me you didn’t,” asked Don, looking from Willow’s smiling face to Alan’s, which hopefully displayed bland innocence.

“I really don’t know what you’re so upset about, Donny,” Alan said. “It happened over twenty years ago, and it was a Halloween prank.”

The look on Don’s face promised retribution for divulging such an embarrassing story, and Alan decided a strategic retreat to the kitchen was in order.

He gave them a few moments of privacy while he cleaned up the kitchen. It wasn’t that big of a mess, but he still took his time, wondering absently why both his sons were completely helpless in the kitchen. They both appreciated good food, but for the life of them, neither could make it – especially Don. Alan wondered if he should offer any help to Willow, remembering a few off-hand comments about food she’d made in the past. Cooking was a skill she sort-of had from before the amnesia, she’d told him, but found her skills ended at cookies and a few side dishes. Making anything for one person was never easy, or worth it, and Alan had a feeling that she only knew enough to get by.

Cooking lessons would be a good way to spend more time with her, because Alan got the feeling she would be the one to stick it out with Don. Or maybe that was just his wishful thinking.

Alan figured he’d given them enough alone time, and left the kitchen.

“—not a good neighbourhood,” he heard Don say, and wondered at the disgruntled look on Willow’s face.

“Those were the only ones I liked,” complained Willow, confusing Alan even more.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Don and Willow were sitting at the table going over some list between them, and while Don looked calm, Willow was starting to look upset.

“Willow’s looking at apartments,” explained Don, looking up.

“You’re moving?” asked Alan, surprised. He knew that she loved where she lived. He’d been there before, and had to admit that the large, open one bedroom suited Willow; he couldn’t see her moving unless she found some place better.

“Yes,” answered Don, alternating between concern and amusement, and Alan wondered what part of the conversation he was missing.

“Something wrong with your current place?” Alan dared to ask.

“Meth lab in the basement,” replied Willow, looking disgruntled.

“Oh my god – you’re not serious!”

“It was _not_ a meth lab, Willow,” argued Don, rolling his eyes.

“Don?” asked Alan, wondering at the difference in reactions.

“Some geniuses in the basement apartment decided to start dealing cocaine out of their place,” explained Don. “When the cops raided it last week, the idiot drug dealers nicked the gas line so the entire block had to be evacuated.”

“Not a meth lab,” Don said pointedly, looking at Willow.

Willow just humphed in annoyance and went back to looking over the list of what Alan assumed was potential apartments. Don just smiled brighter, and Alan felt his chest loosen at the sight of his oldest son so happy.

“I have a suggestion,” said Don, sending Alan a look he interpreted as ‘go hide in the kitchen, I want to be alone for a bit’. Alan just rolled his eyes at Don and went back into the kitchen, though he didn’t move far from the door.

Alan tilted his head towards the dining area in time to hear Don,_ “I talked to my landlord today, and he said there was a bigger two bedroom opening up next month.”_

Alan raised his eyebrows in surprise, having an idea of where this conversation was going. He hadn’t thought Don was that serious, though the two of them had been friends for longer than they’d been together.

_“I can’t afford a two bedroom,”_ said Willow, sounding confused.

_“He said I can transfer my lease to the new apartment,”_ explained Don. Alan held his breath, wondering if this was a good idea or not.

_“You want me to move in with you?”_ asked Willow, hesitantly. _“Are you sure?”_

_“You spend most of your time over there anyway, and half your stuff is at my place,”_ argued Don. _“We practically live together already.”_

_“But…it just seems like it’s too soon. We’ve only been doing _this_ for a few months.”_

_“It’s been over six months, Willow. And in the last year, how many nights have we spent at each other’s places?”_ This part intrigued Alan, because neither Don nor Willow ever really mentioned that time between first meeting and becoming a couple. Alan knew Don had a few girlfriends during that time, and wondered at the role Willow had played in Don’s life. Alan knew Don kept secrets, but just how many secrets his son seemed to have always surprised him.

_“Are you sure? Because I don’t want you to regret-”_

_“Willow,”_ interrupted Don. _“I like having you there when I wake up in the mornings, and I like having a reason to finish work faster at the end of the day. I want you in my space.”_

Alan held his breath through the silence that followed. Don was looking for something to hold on to outside of work, and Alan was glad.

_“Ok.”_

A smile spread across Alan’s face, and he dared to push the door open a crack to peer out.

The smile became soft and fond at the sight of the couple sharing a kiss.

~!~

Amita watched the door close behind the retreating Charlie, Don and various FBI agents Don had managed to talk into helping him move. She really shouldn’t be so surprised that a case had come up to interfere in Moving Day, but somehow she was.

She was also annoyed, but that may be because she wasn’t that comfortable around the other half of Don’s Moving Day.

Willow. Don’s girlfriend. Don’s _live-in_ girlfriend, now.

She didn’t know what it was about the other woman, but Amita had never been completely comfortable in her presence. When Charlie, Don or Alan were there, she could handle herself, but one on one was another story.

And that’s what she’d been left with. Her buffer of Megan, Colby and David had left with Don and Charlie, and Alan and Larry were out returning the rental van they’d been using to move Willow’s things. So here she was, alone with the one person Amita had always been uncertain around.

It didn’t help that Willow and Don had been sniping at each other all day, though Amita was willing to put that down to stress rather than any real relationship trouble.

“Do you want some water? I think the glasses are in one of these boxes.” Amita twisted around at the voice, watching the flushed and sweaty redhead turn towards a stack of boxes in the kitchen, looking prepared to ransack them if given the go ahead.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” she said, turning back to the box of books she was unpacking. Don had said the goal was to empty the boxes they could, and that he and Willow would rearrange things later on.

“Oh, ok.” An uncomfortable silence followed after that, one which Amita didn’t know how to get around or make disappear.

They unpacked boxes quietly for the next while, and Amita did her best to try and ignore the stifling tension between them.

“Ok, look,” Willow said abruptly, breaking the silence and making Amita jump slightly. “I don’t know what I did to you, but could you please tell me so I know?”

“I—what?” Amita looked at Willow, genuinely confused.

“You don’t like me for some reason, so if you could at least tell me why so I’ll know for future reference…”

Wide eyed, Amita tried to look anywhere but at Willow. She’d thought she’d been better at controlling her feelings, but apparently not.

“I like you,” Amita tried to bluff, knowing it was doomed to failure. She had the worst poker face ever; the only way she ever won a hand against Charlie was when she distracted him.

“No, you don’t,” said Willow. “Please, just tell me why.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, Willow,” Amita hesitated. “I just don’t now how to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Just—everyone at school is advanced math and stats, or computer engineering, and will talk your ear off about it, or let you talk their ear off about your stuff. Meanwhile, everyone at the FBI is all about catching the bad guys, and I can talk to them about what I know and how to use it to help them. And you’re not really in either group, so I don’t really know what to talk to you about.”

It was true, for the most part. Amita had tried at the beginning, hoping to find an ally against the Eppes’ men and their sometimes insanity, but it had quickly gone wrong. The only thing the two of them had in common, other than dating an Eppes, was computers. Willow couldn’t talk about most of what she was doing, and her knowledge was all over the map and spotty, but Amita also couldn’t talk about her own work, because for all Willow’s computer smarts, she knew very little of the mathematical models behind what Amita and Charlie were doing. Willow knew what she needed to for whatever she was working on, but nothing really past that. Advanced math was usually something picked up because you had to, or because you took courses in it at college.

Willow didn’t have a college background, didn’t have much of a background at all. And that was another thing Amita was having trouble with. How do you have a conversation with someone who only had the past few years worth of experiences to draw from? And any conversation you did have tended to veer toward weird topics as random pieces of information made themselves known at odd times, or Willow would ask for an explanation on a term or concept that anyone else would know without question.

The awkward silence returned as Amita let Willow mull that over, turning her attention to the nearest box. She’d been over-thinking it herself for the last few months, once she figured out what the problem was – when she finally understood why every time Willow discovered something new that was common knowledge to everyone else, Amita would get annoyed instead of amused, like everybody else.

That was part of the problem, at least.

Amita knew herself well enough to understand that a lot of her hostility came from jealousy. She’d watched Willow and Don over the months, and wished her relationship with Charlie would look that perfect. She was always making missteps, saying the wrong thing, _thinking_ the wrong thing at the wrong time, and she’d watched Charlie pull back from that. Not that it was the only reason Charlie was taking baby steps in their relationship, but it was still frustrating at times.

Times like this, when Amita saw another couple moving forward at a much faster pace than Charlie’s glacial one. Not that she minded. Much. But she wouldn’t mind more of a commitment from Charlie than the occasional night spent at the house. A weekend would be good.

But that wasn’t Willow’s problem, that was hers, and Amita needed to deal with it better.

It was time to change the topic. “So, where does this one go?” Amita asked, peering in on more than half a dozen scrapbooks and photo albums. Willow came over and looked in.

“In the office, next to the other ones,” she said, her voice stiff, yet relieved at the change of topic. They’d been moving and unpacking all day, and with all the extra help gone, it was looking to be an even longer night.

Amita picked up the heavier-than-it-looked box and trudged over to the second bedroom, wondering ‘what other ones’. She paused in the door, eyes wide, and found all she could say was “Wow.”

There were photo albums, scrapbooks and photo boxes piled high in one corner, next to a tall bookcase with deep shelves that was already bursting with more of the same.

“Is this – yours?” Amita asked over her shoulder, knowing that this was definitely not a Don project.

“Mm? Ye-ah,” admitted Willow from behind her. She sounded sheepish and slightly embarrassed, and Amita was confused.

Amita moved further into the room, placing her box next to the heaping tower of oversized albums, and asked “What is all this?”

“This is Early Amnesia Panic,” replied Willow. Amita looked at her, waiting for a better explanation, but Willow was focussed on the bookcase.

“When I lost my memories, no one could really tell me how it happened, why it happened, or if it would happen again. I had nothing but a name that didn’t feel like mine, a past I couldn’t remember, friends and family that were nowhere to be found and a lot of ‘I don’t know’s from every person I talked to.” As Willow talked, Amita felt some of her unease leave her. For the first time, Amita was seeing Willow as ‘Willow’, and not as part of ‘Don and Willow’. “When Milo took me home, I started to write everything down in a journal. I was determined that if this happened again, I wouldn’t wake up with nothing.”

Willow walked to the bookcase and trailed a finger down the spine of the nearest album. “Milo had an old camera, and I started taking pictures of everything, too. Then I put them together in these books as a sort of chronicle of my life. Proof that I actually did exist, that I really had a life.”

“It got a little out of hand those first few years,” Willow admitted, turning to give Amita a sheepish smile.

“What does Don think of this whole thing?” The words popped out before Amita could stop them, and she wondered if she’d broken the spell that was surrounding them.

“He refuses to look at anything that has to do with him, but he’s been through most of them,” Willow said. Then her face scrunched up, “Well, not the journals. Just the scrapbooks and pictures. He says he’d rather I keep my diaries to myself.”

Amita had to laugh at that, and Willow seemed to relax at the sound and smiled.

“You feel like ordering some pizza? We’re going to be here for awhile,” Amita offered, hoping Willow would take it as the peace offering it was. The two of them were going to be spending more time together in the future, and it only seemed fair that they should be able to gang up on Don and Charlie a time or two.

“Great. I’m starving. And I think I know where the plates are.”

Amita smiled, and hoped this was the start to a good friendship.

Because really, the Eppes family needed some female voices every now and then.

End Part 15


	17. Chapter 17

Willow stepped out into the hot afternoon sun, pausing to put on her sunglasses. She ignored the slight tremble in her hands, and turned towards the nearest park. She had a lot to think about and the rest of the afternoon to kill. She felt like this entire past year had been leading up to something, and that this was finally it. This was the day that her world was going to come crashing down, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Something had twisted and turned in her stomach as she woke up this morning, and Willow wished she'd just stayed in bed like she wanted.

She'd had the same feeling a few months ago, the day her therapist said, “You haven't had even the smallest memory resurface in five years, Willow. I don't think it's ever going to come back.”

She hadn't dealt with it all that well, if she were honest with herself. That last little bit of hope she hadn't realized she still carried had been crushed. Willow would forever be grateful to Don for being there to catch her when she broke down. He'd been her rock of strength for the past few years, but never more so than these past few months.

He'd even taken her on a weekend trip to the ruins of Sunnydale to help jog her memory, though it hadn't done any good.

Finally reaching the park, Willow bought herself a well-deserved ice cream and focussed on not losing any of the rapidly melting treat, rather than thinking about her recent doctor's appointment. Thinking about it meant change, and she really didn't want anything to change right now.

The past year had been perfect. Or, as perfect as one could get with limited memories. It still bothered her that in five years she hadn't had the smallest glimmer of a memory. No sense of deja-vu when walking into a new place or meeting a new person, no flashbacks to childhood or high school, or even her parents. Her parents who had visited two more times to stilted conversations and borderline hostile looks from Don and his family when the Rosenberg’s continued to deny Willow any hint of her past. But she'd come to deal with that and was content and happy now.

She had a life that she loved, and while having her memory back would be helpful, she was also scared. What if full-memory-Willow was a different person? What if she had a life waiting for her if only she could remember? What if she changed? What if Don didn't like who she turned in to? What if nobody liked who she turned into?

What if she was in love with someone else?

She had a great job, wonderful friends and a hot boyfriend who made her feel special and important. She even had a family, as Alan had decided to adopt her the instant she and Don moved in together. Don sometimes joked that his father liked Willow more than his own son.

Willow smiled at the memory as she walked. There was something about Alan that made her feel loved and important; like no matter what she did or who she became, he would always love her. She got that same feeling from Don, though it was different and more intense, but there was still some part of her that was waiting for it all to end.

Willow stood by the edge of the small lake, finishing off her ice cream. LA really did have a lot of beautiful days, and people made the most of the sunshine and warm temperatures. Willow's attention was caught by a couple of small children, too young to be in school. The little boy was chasing the little girl across the grass, screaming and yelling unintelligibly, until the girl tripped and fell. Willow watched as instead of screaming for her mother or guardian, the little girl turned a mutinous gaze on her companion which promised dire consequences.

The boy turned and ran, screaming for his mother, while the little girl just picked herself up, dusted off her grass-stained clothes, and marched innocently after him.

Willow thought it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. They looked to be about the same age, and so were either playmates or brother and sister, maybe even twins. Twins. Now that was two major changes at the same time for the parents, and one was scary enough for Willow.

Her hand had unconsciously settled low on her abdomen, and Willow tore it away determinedly as she pushed her thoughts in a different direction. Dr Heine’s words were still ricocheting around in her head, and despite the positive test, Willow wasn’t yet prepared to deal with the consequences just yet. All she could see was her life spinning out of her control, her mind filling with a million ‘what ifs’, and feeling more terrified than she ever had before. Willow tried to pull her racing thoughts back to the present, ignoring as best she could the wild plans and fantasies – and nightmares – already spinning through her mind.

She really needed to sit down, though. The ice cream had helped, but she could still feel her legs becoming unsteady. Shock.

Really, one should not be this familiar with the condition, she told herself.

Willow went to find the nearest bench that wasn't covered in bird poop, which turned out to be harder than it should have been, and --

“Willow?”

Willow paused and looked around briefly, but saw no one she recognised.

“Oh my God! Willow!”

There was a rush of feet just before a body slammed into her, taking them both to the ground.

Willow's first panicked thought after 'ow' and 'ground, hard' and ‘oh, my head’, was that something had happened in the park and someone had pushed her to safety. Upon later reflection, she would realize that this is what comes from spending too much time around FBI agents, cops and action movies. However, the arms that were wrapped around her didn't let go, and the body didn't get up. Instead Willow felt herself being squeezed tighter.

“Get off – let go of me!” Still, Willow wasn’t released.

This was when another aspect of living with an FBI agent, and having an FBI friend who teaches krav maga comes in handy: ‘how to get away from an attacker’ lessons. Granted, there hadn't been much wrestling involved, but Willow could improvise.

Or, she thought she could. Every move she tried to get out of this strange person's hold only resulted in a tighter grip, to the point where she was seriously worried about crushed ribs and breathing problems. She tried kicking out with her legs, but that did nothing more than make her wiggle under her assailant.

It was around that time that Willow noticed three things about her attacker. One, it was a 'she'. Two, she was very, very strong. Three, and most importantly, she was trying to kiss her. A lot.

Willow had no idea what was going on, but the constant stream of 'Willow, baby, I've missed you so much' had her panic ratchet up another notch, to the point where Willow was willing to be the crazy person in the park screaming for help. Well, the second craziest, anyway.

Which is what she did, and soon there were people and police, all yelling and screaming, which led to the desired effect of having Crazy Girl release her.

Willow inched back, and watched the incredulous sight of Crazy Girl put herself in between Willow and the cops who had arrived with guns drawn. One of the cops caught her eye, motioning to the side, and Willow took his advice, slowly moving away from where Crazy Girl was facing off with two more cops. Sirens in the distance let her know that even more help was on the way, and Willow spared a thought of gratitude to the rapid response time.

“Willow, you need to stay over here, where I can protect you,” said Crazy Girl, once she noticed Willow was edging her way towards the cops with the guns and the backup and the shiny badges. She'd really prefer to see a different kind of shiny badge right now, but the FBI weren't in the habit of patrolling the streets and parks of LA – that's what the LAPD were for.

Willow didn't even bother to spare Crazy Girl a reply of any sort, just quickly sprinted behind the nearest cop and waited. Within minutes, Crazy Girl was in cuffs and looking at Willow as if she had just killed her puppy, which Willow chose to ignore. Crazy Girl – or rather, Kennedy, as she found out – had attacked Willow, not the other way around.

Talking to the police officer thirty minutes later, Willow was not any calmer. She'd given her statement to the officer, who was fully confident that there would be no problems should she wish to press charges against Kennedy. There had been more than a few people who had seen the entire fiasco, but hadn't been sure it wasn't just a very enthusiastic reunion until Willow had started to yell.

“Is there anyone you want me to call?” asked the officer, leading her over to the ambulance they'd called. Willow didn't like to think that she looked that bad.

“I got it,” she said, holding up her cell phone. He nodded and moved a short distance away – enough to give the illusion of privacy, but still close in case she needed him for anything.

Hitting speed dial, she waited for Don to pick up, and was surprised to get his voicemail. “Oh, I forgot you were in court all day. Darn. I—well, something happened, here. I'm at the park near the doctor's office, and I could really do with some Don-shaped hugs and stuff. Call me when you get out, I'll call Megan next. Bye, Don.”

Hanging up, Willow frowned, not liking how shaky and incoherent she'd sounded, and knowing Don would like it even less.

“So, lawyer?” asked the cop from beside her, and Willow drew a blank for a moment before laughing. He'd heard the word 'court' and immediately thought lawyer.

“FBI, actually,” she said, smiling slightly at the deliberately blank look that was suddenly plastered on his face.

Hitting another speed dial on her phone, Willow was grateful to hear this one answered by a real person.

“Hey, Megan.”

End Part 16


	18. Chapter 18

Kennedy sat in the back of the police car, pushing down her instinct to break the cuffs and bust out of the car. Buffy and Giles had both been very insistent that they try and keep slayers and demons out of the public eye, and that included the police. Instead, she watched with slayer eyes and listened with slayer ears, and still none of this made any sense. When she'd first seen the flash of red hair in her peripheral vision, she'd instinctively turned to seek out the source, as she'd been doing for years. None of the original groups of slayers and Scoobies had ever completely believed that Willow was dead, but over the years the search had become merely habit, not hope.

Until now. Now, she had proof that Willow was still alive; alive and living in LA.

At first, Kennedy had thought she was dreaming, or hallucinating, but the form had been solid and the person had been real. Willow was alive and well, and all Kennedy's dreams were coming true. None of the lovers she'd taken over the years had in any way compared to Willow, but now she had a chance to have her back. She'd been so excited that this redhead wasn't just a pale copy with only a mild resemblance to her Willow, but the real deal. She'd even acknowledged the name ‘Willow’, which just tipped the scales for Kennedy.

She'd rushed in, so happy and excited to see her girlfriend after five long years. In hindsight, she could see how Willow may have been frightened by the overly affectionate display, but nothing she'd done had been deserving of cops. Willow had been just as happy to see her, so her running _to_ the cops had been a surprise, especially when they threatened them both with guns. Willow didn’t like guns, yet she had run _towards_ them. Everything was even more confusing when the misguided officers told her that Willow was pressing charges.

This part, Kennedy didn't understand. Being reunited with your long lost girlfriend was no reason to arrest someone, even if it had gotten a little rougher than usual. They’d been separated for years, and it was only natural that they’d both be excited at being reunited.

So now, she was using her slayer senses to eavesdrop and figure out what had happened to Willow. Something was going on, and Kennedy was determined to find out what is was so she could fix it and get her girlfriend back.

And Kennedy had a feeling this 'Dawn' person was right in the middle of it.

~!~

Willow watched as Don came flying into the emergency room, his neatly pressed suit rumpled and a slightly wild look in his eye. Willow wondered if maybe she really had been too incoherent in her phone message, but then remembered that Don had been calling Megan at five minute intervals since he'd checked his voicemail, so really, this couldn't be laid directly at her feet.

It didn't stop her from being extremely glad to see him, or even slightly pleased that he'd been so worried. Don may not say it often – or ever, really – but it was things like this, and things _not_ like this that let Willow know that he cared for her. Maybe even loved her, but she wasn't going there until he did, even if she already was… ‘there’ that is, because she was. She tried not to think about how she'd feel if she ever found out that she was in that place, but Don wasn’t and never would be.

Willow idly wondered if she'd hit her head harder than she thought, because even she could tell that her internal monologue was losing coherency. But right now, her attention was fixed on Don as he wrapped his arms around her, shutting out the entire world – or just the busy ER around them. Burying her face in his neck, Willow felt the tension drain out of her shoulders as she squeezed him tight. Don had always been her anchor when her world was spinning out of control, and nothing had changed.

“Are you ok?” he asked, pulling away slightly to look her over. He fingered the bruises on her cheek and the scratches on her temple, and he gently kissed away the sting of her split lip. Don-kisses were better than painkillers, Willow thought, no longer able to feel any of her bruises or scratches – and she had a lot. She really didn't remember fighting nearly enough to account for all her wounds, but the witnesses said she had, and the physical evidence backed them up. Willow was just disgruntled because if Kennedy had been a man, she could have at least kneed him in the balls and maybe gotten away.

“All better,” she said, keeping her eyes closed and pulling him in closer to her. So far her day had sucked, but Don was on course to making it a whole lot better.

“I want to go home,” she told him, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. She wanted to get him home as soon as possible, too, because she knew his day hadn't been any better, though his had at least avoided any kinds of physical assault. Well, she hoped. But court days were always stressful for Don, and he often needed some sort of distraction when it was all over or he'd brood about it for days, especially if the bad guy got off.

Adding the whole ‘Park Incident’ on to a court day, and he was bound to be in a crappy mood. At least she'd managed to distract him, though she could have wished for a better way of doing it.

“It should be soon. I should go find a doctor to discharge you,” he told her, but didn't let go. “Dad's expecting us for dinner.”

“I just want to be somewhere that’s not here,” she whispered, imagining nothing more than their shared apartment with their hot shower and comfy sofa she could curl up on with Don. She hoped it was enough to banish the memories of Kennedy's hands and mouth and body on hers.

“You think Dad's going to let you get out of being mother henned by him?” joked Don with a small laugh, and while her preferred way to spend the evening was with Don, having Alan coddle and feed her was next on the list.

“How did he find out, anyway?” she asked, wondering if her afternoon adventures had managed to make it through the FBI gossipvine as well.

“He called as I was driving here,” was all he said, and really, it was all he needed to. Alan had a sixth sense where his sons were concerned, and that was apparently now extending to Willow, as well.

Willow looked around for either Dr Heine or someone to send to find Dr Heine – Don was staying right where he was, damnit. Megan was talking to the nice police officer who'd followed them to the from the park.

Luckily, just as Willow was about to send either Megan or the uniformed officer out hunting for her, said doctor show up.

“Willow, feeling better I presume?” she teased with an indulgent smile. Dr Heine had been her personal doctor for over four years, and Willow loved her. The first few doctors had treated her like a small child, or a stupid adult. They seemed to assume that 'no memory' meant 'no understanding'. On her first visit with Dr Heine, she'd spent over two hours going through what little medical history was available, and then talked about what the amnesia meant for Willow as both a patient and a person.

They'd done some medical investigation to fill out more of Willow's history, finding out that she had no allergies, she'd never been on any form of birth control in recent years, and she'd had chicken pox when she was a child, but no measles. X-rays had showed several healed fractures, but most were several years old and were most likely due to high school mishaps. Willow had found out more about herself from Dr Heine than anywhere else, including public and not-so-public records.

“All better,” Willow told the doctor, smiling from where her head rested on Don’s shoulder. She was really grateful to the paramedic who had run back and gotten Dr Heine from her office for Willow, but “Can I go home, now?”

The doctor just laughed indulgently and handed Willow a brown paper bag, “Here are the pills we talked about.”

“What pills?” asked Don, frowning down at Willow.

“I'll tell you later,” she said, exchanging a quick look with the doctor.

“You're all signed out and ready to go,” she said, motioning to the clipboard she held. “I'll see you in a few weeks.”

Willow gave a quick 'bye' and grabbed Don's hand, moving towards the door. Megan and the officer joined them as they exited the hospital, with Megan splitting off to usher Willow to where Don's Suburban was illegally parked. She heard Don talking to the police officer behind her, but didn't really mind, though the words 'tomorrow' and 'statement' were ominous enough.

But Willow was going home, and that was all that mattered.

~!~

Kennedy paced the length of the communal jail cell, barely giving the other occupants huddled against the far wall much thought. She had more important things to worry about than a bunch of women acting paranoid and scared in a jail cell, such as why Willow was acting weird.

Willow should have been throwing herself into Kennedy’s arms, joyful for the reunion with her lover, not running to the nearest cop to have her arrested. Her behaviour didn’t fit with the Willow she’d been separated from, and it was definitely cause for concern. She was treating Kennedy like the enemy, and that was wrong. It was completely not right.

_Willow couldn’t be mad about the other girls, could she?_ Kennedy wondered. Willow had been missing for so long that Kennedy had gotten lonely, but none of them had compared to her Willow. They were mere shadows of what Willow was, and had never measured up. Surely Willow knew that.

Kennedy shook her head, banishing the thoughts. Willow wouldn’t begrudge her some comfort, so that wasn’t the problem.

Maybe it had to do with this Dawn person Willow had called from the park. It only made sense, if you thought about it. Willow’s strange behaviour, the presence of another woman – two women, actually. Kennedy remembered the second woman Willow had called, a ‘Megan’.

Kennedy summed up what she knew: two women, Willow acting beyond strange, Willow and this Megan actively helping the police to arrest and confine her….

Willow was under a spell. That had to be it. This Dawn and Megan were part of some demon coven, determined to control and use Willow and her magic for their own purposes.

Now that she had a good idea of what was going on, Kennedy started to plan. She needed to get Willow away from those demon witches and break the spell. Willow was all that mattered right now, and she was determined to free Willow from whatever hold others had on her.

But first, she needed to get out of this jail cell, and that would require a lawyer, preferably one that was non-evil, which meant calling the nearest Council representative. Great.

“Hey!” she yelled out through the bars. “I want to make a phone call.”

Hopefully in a few hours, she’d be out of here and on her way to getting Willow back by her side, where she belonged.

End Part 17


	19. Chapter 19

Willow practically floated into the apartment later that night, full of food and glowing, making Don smile as he closed the door behind them. His father had really laid it on thick tonight, but Don appreciated it. There were some things that only his father could deliver, and parental smothering was one of them.

Don watched her kick off her shoes and pad barefoot into the living room, turning on the stereo. Tonight was apparently a music night, which meant Willow turned up the stereo and danced around the living room. The first time she'd felt confident enough to do it with him in the apartment had been nearly six months earlier. Don took it as a sign of her trust and security in their relationship that she would be willing to let him in on something so vastly personal to her. She was still very self-conscious about certain things, but Don was slowly but surely breaking down each wall she'd erected between herself and the outside world.

Tonight, he just let her dance away in the living room while he put away the mounds of leftovers his father had foisted on them.

Don moved around the kitchen, reminiscing about a time when his kitchen was used for storing leftovers and beer. The kitchen in the new apartment, on the other hand, was used for so much more – for things like food preparation and eating. He’d had to make some adjustments to living with Willow, and a functional kitchen was one of them. It was strange living with someone again, and he'd found he'd had to get used to a whole other set of quirks and habits of hers, but he knew Willow had had to do the same.

Not that they hadn't had their share of fights. Don found that living with Willow was very different from spending most nights with her. And the merging of their collective 'stuff' had been a challenge on par with counting grains of sand. They'd accomplished it, but it hadn't been pretty, or quiet. Not even his cohabitation with Kim had been as traumatic for him as moving in with Willow, but Willow was also the first woman he'd ever wanted to share living space with since Kim, so he put in the effort.

Don had known that those first few months had worried Willow, because he was the only person she fought with like that. Her normal way of dealing with confrontational situations was to stand her ground, keep calm and reason with the other person. His way was to not talk about it until it went away - if it involved the woman he was dating; co-workers and family were a completely different category, which Willow apparently now fit into. When they fought, it was short, loud and abrupt, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come.

Her therapist had told her that it stemmed from the intensity of their emotions, and that it was simply another facet of their relationship. Don just figured it was the side effect of two stubborn people in a relationship together. His father tended to agree with him on that score.

Turning to leave the kitchen, Don caught sight of the brown paper bag of pills that Dr Heine had given Willow earlier that day, which she refused to talk about. Don generally left things like this alone, but Willow usually didn't refuse to talk about stuff like this – at least not with him.

Casting a quick glance towards the living room and seeing glimpses of arms and moving shadows, Don took his opportunity and opened the bag. The first bottle was of a very mild painkiller, with a hand written note, _'Only if completely necessary.'_. The next few were over the counter vitamins, with explicit instructions on how many to take and when. It was the last bottle that floored him.

A bottle of prenatal vitamins, with a note to call Dr Heine if Willow started to experience morning sickness.

Don had to blink a few times to clear his vision, and force himself to breath when he started to get light headed. Too many thoughts and emotions were running through his head for him to make any sense of it all. He'd just been thrown a fastball, and didn't know how to respond to it.

He put the bottles all back into the bag, barely noticing how his hands had a slight tremble to them, then leaned against the counter to think.

First, did he want this? Well, it was sort of a non-question, because if he was right he didn't have any choice in the matter. He didn't even consider not being there for Willow, because while their relationship might be just over a year old, he already had the feeling that she was it for him.

Second, was he ready for the changes this was going to bring into his life? The answer was unequivocally 'no', but that wouldn't stop him. He didn't know if anyone could really be fully prepared for parenthood, but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to do his best.

Which took care of question three.

Question four wasn't so much a question as it was a realization: Willow was going to be in his life from now on, whether they were together, married or broken up. His future would always in some way be tied to hers, and he found he wasn't too bothered by that.

His final question was, 'when was Willow planning to tell him?', though he'd grant her that today had been stressful and strange.

With a plan in mind, Don walked into the living room and switched the music from a dance beat to something slower.

“Don?” Instead of answering, Don held out an arm in invitation, smiling as she placed her hand in his, ignoring the bruises that still marred her skin. Pulling her towards him, Don wrapped his other arm around her back, tucking her in tight against her body as he moved them around the living room to the music. He felt her sink into him as she followed his movements, her free arm coming to rest on his shoulder from behind.

“When are you going to see Dr Heine again?” he asked after a while, swaying in place with her head in the crook of his neck. He slipped a hand under her shirt at the back, rubbing gentle circles into the skin of her lower back.

“Don't know. Sometime soon,” she murmured, her breath puffing against his neck.

Don waited another minute. “When do you need to get those prescriptions refilled?” he asked, wondering how many leading questions he'd have to ask before that beautiful brain of hers processed what he was saying.

The answer turned out to be two, because as soon as he'd mentioned the pill bottles, Willow had stiffened in his arms. He felt her become still for almost a full minute before she turned her head up to look at him.

“You snooped,” she accused, but it was weak at best.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Willow?” he asked, mostly because he wasn't sure it would be real for him until she did.

Instead of any of the expected replies, Don watched a wave of fear wash over her face. She was biting her lip and watching him with big, watery eyes, which didn't fit with any of the reactions he could have predicted. She was scared, and it was of him.

“Willow?” he asked worriedly, wondering if he'd gone about this entire thing the wrong way.

“Are you mad?” she asked in a raspy whisper, which threw Don completely off his train of thought.

“Wha-mad? No! Why would I be mad?” he asked her, frowning in confusion.

“I was so worried you would be mad or angry or something,” she said, trying to blink back tears. “I mean, I'm hardly the ideal person for a long term relationship, let alone lifelong. I don't even know anything about kids, or families, or what I'm suppose to do. And then there's this little voice in the back of my head that keeps telling me you're going to realize how horrible I am at being normal and ordinary, and that you don't want to be with me anymore - I don't have a past, probably never will – I don't know how to be without you anymore-”

“Hey-hey, there. Don't cry,” soothed Don, brushing away her tears. He kept forgetting that despite her tough and strong exterior, there was still an inner core of insecurities that popped up at inopportune moments. “I'm not mad or angry or any of those other things. I'm surprised, and still kinda shocked, but Willow,” he said, making sure he had her complete attention. “Do you really think you're ever getting rid of me now?”

“We're going to be part of each other's lives for the rest of our lives. Nothing is going to change that,” he told her. “You fit me like you were made specifically for me, and nothing is ever going to change that, either.”

“Besides,” he added after a beat, “my family loves you more than me.”

“Do not,” she said with a giggle, and Don took that as encouragement.

“Oh, you think so, huh? I'm convinced my Dad would gladly sell both me and Charlie if he had the chance to adopt you.”

“You're just saying that because I'm the only one that can win any of Charlie's logical-math arguments.”

“Hey, don't underestimate the power of your logic,” he countered, remembering fondly the previous month's family barbeque that Charlie had sulked through.

Hearing a slight giggle from Willow, Don pulled her back in tight against him and leaned down to her ear. “Is there something you want to tell me,” he repeated.

Willow looked up at him with a mischievous smile this time, biting her lip nervously as she pulled his hand from her back to lay it low on her stomach.

“We're going to have a baby,” she whispered, and Don had never loved her more.

~!~

Willow awoke the next morning to a cooling indentation in the bed where Don had been, and the sounds of a shower running. Smiling, she stretched languidly in the bed, relaxing in the early morning light that filtered in through the window. Yesterday Don had called in to both their jobs and gotten them sick days, so Willow saw no reason to get out of bed any time soon.

Until one of her ribs twinged at the movement, reminding her of _why_ she had a sick day.

Pulling herself out of bed, she padded over to the full-length mirror and took stock of her 'battle' wounds. There were some faint scratches and bruises on her face, but those didn't really concern her. The dark band of bruising around her arms was worse, as were the scratches on her lower arms, and she already knew there were a couple of bruised ribs. There were also some bumps and bruises on her back and hips from being slammed into the ground, but those were minimal thanks to the clothing she was wearing.

Having no visible injuries didn't mean there wasn't damage done by the body check to the ground. It was why the paramedics had taken her to the hospital, and sent someone to get Dr Heine. Even though Willow hadn't wanted to believe or acknowledge the possibility of the baby, she'd still panicked at the thought of losing it. Dr Heine had assured her that everything was fine, but that experience had finally penetrated that she was pregnant. Thus had begun the quiet panic attacks that Don had taken care of last night.

Well, most of them. She still had no idea what to do with a baby, or even what to expect out of being pregnant. Willow consoled herself with the knowledge that most women were in the same boat, and it had nothing to do with losing her memory.

Tilting her head in consideration, Willow turned sideways in the mirror, flattened her t-shirt and looked at herself in the mirror. Did she look pregnant yet? Could you tell that there was a little life growing inside her at this very moment?

Then, what would she look like in a few months? Willow thought about stuffing a pillow under her shirt to find out, but decided she'd find out soon enough.

“Will you still like me when I'm fat?” Willow asked over her shoulder, having seen Don stop in the doorway.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. There was a raspiness to his voice that sent pleased tingles throughout Willow's body as she turned to look at him.

Willow watched him stalk towards her in nothing more than a towel, and wondered what she'd done to ever deserve someone like Don.

“You'll be beautiful when you're ninety seven,” he said, leaning down to kiss her gently.

Willow remained silent as he knelt down in front of her, his hands on her hips holding her in place.

“Hi, in there. I'm your daddy,” he whispered to her belly, and Willow felt her vision start to turn watery. “Your mommy and I can't wait to meet you.”

Willow felt the world shift under her feet at the word 'mommy', because until just then she hadn't thought of herself in those terms. Placing her hands on Don's head, Willow was glad that he was there with her. The future didn't seem quite so scary with Don in it.

She felt Don place a light kiss on her stomach before standing again, giving her one of her own. Then he wrapped her in his arms and whispered, “I love you” in her ear.

Willow started to cry in earnest at that point, and couldn't for the life of her explain to Don why.

Stupid hormones.

End Part 18


	20. Chapter 20

Several hours later found Willow entering a precinct of the LAPD, her hand clenching Don's. They were led back through a maze of desks to the detective who had taken over her case.

She found the process of giving a statement was in some ways more traumatic than the actual event leading to the statement, but Willow was determined to see this through. She may not remember learning all the social cues to personal interactions, but she _did_ know that there were limits to what a random person on the street could expect from a stranger. Body checking, bear hugs that left bruises, and unwanted 'kisses' were definitely beyond the boundaries.

Which was why Willow was actually going to be pressing charges, and not feeling guilty about it. Really, though, she was angry; angry that she could have lost the baby she barely had time to know existed.

Don stood near her the entire time.

As she finished reading and signing the written statement, Willow listened to Don as he talked to the detective, trying not to smile as Don became Agent Eppes. He'd come wearing his gun, badge and ID, and Willow wasn't blind to the covert looks being shot in their direction. From what Don had told her of interagency relations, having a feeb in their midst who did nothing more than look intimidating had to be weird.

“Has she said anything yet?” Don asked the detective – Portman, she thought – referring to the Kennedy girl who had attacked her yesterday.

“Nothing much beyond lawyering up,” said Portman. Willow could hear the frown in his voice. “There's a rep from her organization here who's been mouthy enough for both of them, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“What organization?” asked Willow, handing the signed papers back to the detective.

“Some outfit out of England. Tried to use some 'diplomatic immunity' bullshit but it didn't stick,” he explained. “Ms Rowler is still a citizen of the US – no dual citizenship – and diplomatic immunity means nothing in-country.”

“Do we know why she went after Willow?” asked Don, and Willow could see his investigator's mind working. She really shouldn't find it that hot.

“She said something about this all being a misunderstanding, and that once Ms Rosenberg realized who she was, everything would be cleared up,” continued Portman, watching her closely. “Tried to explain the attack as an 'over-enthusiastic reunion' because she thought you were dead. Also said she was your girlfriend.”

Willow froze at this, hardly daring to believe. Another blast from her forgotten past? Would they all turn out to be disasters?

“Don?” she called out quietly, relieved when his hand reclaimed hers.

“Did she say anything else?” asked Don.

“Nothing else before she lawyered up,” he said, and Willow could feel Portman's gaze burning her.

“She knows me?” Willow asked steadily, choosing to ignore the 'girlfriend' bit for now.

“So she claims,” the detective answered warily.

“Is there any way to--”

“Ah hell,” swore Portman, interrupting Willow's next question. “She's back.”

“Who?”

“The mouthy company rep who's been baby-sitting the suspect for the past six hours.”

“She have a name?” asked Don as they turned. Willow looked over the woman who was stalking – literally _stalking_ \- her way towards them. She had dark hair and dark eyes, which matched her dark clothes – and black leather pants, for crying out loud – Willow sensed a theme here, and it was dark and dangerous.

“Hey, Portman, little buddy!” she called out as she crossed the crowded bullpen. “What's a girl gotta do to get some – holy crap! Willow?!”

Willow took a step back, because the last time she'd heard someone call her name in that same tone of surprise/shock, she'd been tackled and assaulted. She felt Don stiffen beside her, moving to put himself between her and the brunette staring in shock. In fact, she felt several of the surrounding police officers come to attention, for which she was grateful. If this woman was anywhere near as strong as Kennedy had been-

“Hot damn, Red!” cried out the brunette, genuinely happy to see her, as proven by the big smile curving her lips. “I knew Miss Bossy was rambling about you, but I didn't think it was legit.”

“Hi. Who are you?” Willow asked from Don's side.

“Red? Are you okay?” asked the woman, looking at Don suspiciously. “In fact, how are you not dead? The general consensus was you hadn't made it out alive, considering we barely did.”

“You're talking about Sunnydale?” asked Willow, her curiosity overcoming some of her fear and nervousness. It hadn’t occurred to her that this Kennedy knew her from Before, just that she had some weird, disturbing, violent fixation on Willow. “I was there, right? Around the time it collapsed? Are you saying you were, too?”

“Woah, Red, what's going on? You _know_ what happened,” said the woman, now frowning. “Right?”

“You still haven't told us who you are,” countered Don. He was using his Federal Agent voice, and Willow tried not to smile; for some reason, watching him turn into the FBI Agent always gave her a little shiver of pleasure.

“Name's Faith,” said Faith, confrontationally. “You?”

“Don Eppes,” he told her. Willow saw Faith's eyes move between the two before moving down to their joined hands.

“Way to go, Red,” Faith congratulated with a big smile, followed by a suggestive smirk.

“So, what the hell is going on?” asked Faith, collapsing into the nearest chair, oblivious to the glowering detective standing next to it. “What's with all the questions about Sunnydale? Don't you remember?”

Willow watched her for a moment before deciding that there were worse places to have this kind of conversation. She might finally be getting answers about her life pre-amnesia.

Pulling up the nearest chair – this one offered by a nice young detective – Willow turned and sat down facing Faith, constantly aware of Don at her back.

“Actually, I don't. Remember, that is,” Willow began. She hated talking about this; every time she had to do it, she hated it a little bit more. Why couldn’t she be normal? “I was found by a rescue crew on the road outside of Sunnydale, a few days after it sunk. When I woke up in the hospital, I had no memory.”

“--of the 'sinking'?” asked Faith, wincing, as if she didn't really want to really know.

“Of anything,” Willow told her. “I still don't. I haven't had a flash or even a twinge of a memory in five years.”

Faith breathed out a low curse and looked at the ceiling, her hands tapping some unknown rhythm on her thighs.

“So you don't remember me,” Faith breathed out, her eyes wide and surprised. “Or Sunnydale. Or Kennedy. Or Buffy, Xander, Giles, Dawn, Anya, Andrew – wait, Andrew might be a good thing to forget. You don't know about -- _daaaamn_.”

Willow's head was spinning at the mention of so many names – names her parents refused to provide. She felt Don's hand fall on her shoulder and squeeze.

“Were – are those my friends?” asked Willow, her foot starting to bounce in excitement.

“Friends, family, barely tolerated insects,” Faith confirmed with a rueful laugh that sounded decidedly painful.

“Wait, that means-” Faith trailed off as if something had just occurred to her, and Willow watched as Faith's eyes moved between her and Detective Portman several times, before coming to rest on her. Faith was looking at her very carefully, and then she realized that Faith was cataloguing Willow's injuries.

“Kennedy saw it as a grand reunion,” Faith said closing her eyes in resignation, though of what, Willow wasn't sure. “Any chance of you dropping the charges?” Faith asked her, but Willow felt that Faith didn't think she would, or should.

Willow gave the question some serious thought. True, the entire assault could be termed one giant misunderstanding and Willow could let it go at that, but it didn't sit well with her. When she was finally out in the world and on her own (with Milo as backup), she'd made a series of promises to herself. She wouldn't let herself become a victim; she wouldn't let things just 'happen' to her; she would let people's actions speak for them.

But most importantly, she would not feel helpless and defenseless like she had in those first few weeks after her memory loss.

Kennedy had made her feel both. She'd taken away some of Willow's hard won independence, and had almost taken away more.

“No. The charges stand,” she said, looking Faith straight in the eye. Faith stared back, a look of surprised respect on her face as she nodded her approval.

“This should hopefully bring Lady Attitude's ego down a bit,” Faith cackled in evil glee.

Well, at least she hadn't been the only person who wasn't fond of Kennedy.

End Part 19


	21. Chapter 21

“Hey Giles. Am I on speaker phone?” asked Faith, staring out the window of her hotel room high above the afternoon LA traffic.

“We're all here, Faith.”

“Heya, B. Miss me?”

“Faith, please. Can we discuss the Kennedy situation?” said Giles, and Faith resolved herself to being a good little slayer. The situation was too important for anything less.

“Yeah. Basically, the sitch is she's screwed,” Faith told them. “In the middle of a crowded park yesterday, she full-on tackled this woman to the ground, used her slayer strength to keep her in place, and started trying to kiss her, all the while saying how much she loved and missed her.”

Silence met her statement.

“Hello? Anybody there?” asked Faith, shaking her cell phone.

“Yeah, we're here Faith, we're just a little stunned,” Xander commented. Faith could only guess as to the looks being passed around the conference room back in England.

“You're certain about this?” asked Giles, and Faith could practically see him cleaning his glasses in despair.

“About a dozen witnesses readily stepped forward, including the three cops who pulled their guns to get Kennedy away from this woman.” Faith was deliberately not using Willow's name, because the problem at hand was Kennedy, not the resurrected – sort of – Willow.

“What do you suggest, Faith?” asked Buffy. It was a sign of just how far they'd come when Buffy was relying on Faith's opinion when it came to the younger slayers.

“Normally I'd say 'you do the crime, you do the time', but Kennedy isn't normal.”

“You went to jail,” commented Xander, and if Faith hadn't spent the last year working closely with the man, she would have taken that as an accusation.

“And the only reason I didn't kill anyone while in there, or break out sooner, was because I knew I deserved to be there. Kennedy doesn't see it that way. She's been bucking against us all since she was a wannabe, and it hasn't changed,” Faith told them. “She's turning scary – and not in the way I was.” Faith had spent several hours with Kennedy after Willow and her boy toy left the police station, and hadn’t liked what she’d heard. The name mix-up – ‘Don’ to ‘Dawn’ - was kind of understandable, given that they already had a ‘Dawn’ in their group. But the rest of what Kennedy had had to say – well, Faith’s radar for trouble was pinging loudly in Kennedy’s direction. No matter what Faith tried to tell the girl, the other slayer wouldn’t listen.

Kennedy couldn’t be let loose unsupervised until she got some serious help. She especially couldn’t be let loose in LA.

“Have you talked to some of her former partners?” Faith asked, trying to pull support from every corner she could.

“I have,” admitted Xander, and Faith knew she'd have an ally in him. His tone of voice let her know that he had discovered the same thing she had. “She's been getting wilder, taking more risks, challenging the other slayers at every turn.”

“She's got this entitlement complex about being a slayer, B,” said Faith, trying to explain the vibes Kennedy had been giving off for years. “Like she's Queen of the Hive and everyone's lesser than her. There's a reason I call her 'Her Ladyship’.”

“It hasn't helped that she was in the Battle of Sunnydale – she’s been using that as a status symbol for years,” Xander added. “Last month she almost got Alaina killed in Bucharest – she dived in without proper preparation and dragged Alaina with her. They only survived because Ian ran in after them.”

“How's Alaina doing?” Faith asked quietly, sidetracking the conversation slightly.

“Alaina was put back on rotation this morning, though she's vowing never to work with Kennedy again,” Xander reassured her. “A lot of the other girls are agreeing with her, and every day more girls are coming forward with stories about Kennedy. None of them are good.”

Faith heard a sigh that was distinctly Giles, and knew she'd gotten her point across.

“In any case, we need to get Kennedy back here where we can deal with her,” said Giles after a moment. “As Faith has stated, a normal prison will not hold her. I'll get the Consulate working on an extradition immediately.”

“She's not going to come quietly, or easily, Giles,” said Faith. Though, really, she had no qualms about hog-tying the idiot slayer and sending her back to London in a packing crate.

“What about that ... stuff,” suggested Buffy in a quiet voice, and Faith didn't have to wonder what she was talking about. The sedative designed by the old Council to temporarily relieve a slayer of her powers was the most hated of all the Council's inventions. It unfortunately had its uses, though, mainly in dealing with the few insane slayers they had come across.

In this case, it would be used to transport one petulant slayer back to England.

“Yes, well-I'll have some shipped to you in LA, Faith,” agreed Giles, as uncomfortable with the idea as everyone else.

“Ok, so we'll figure something out on our end while the lawyers and politicians do their thing,” said Buffy. “Is there anything else?”

“Actually,” said Faith, hesitantly. “It's about the woman that Kennedy attacked.”

“What about her?” asked Buffy.

“First, you guys have to promise to listen to me. There's more going on here than just Kennedy, but you have to let me explain, ok?”

“Explain what?”

“Faith? What's going on?”

“The woman that Kennedy attacked – it was Willow,” she said, closing her eyes and preparing to do some fast talking.

“What?” Only Xander spoke, and Faith didn't know if that was good or not.

“Look, I know Kennedy has some insane fixation on Willow, but--”

“What fixation?” asked Buffy. Faith wondered if she really didn't know.

“You haven't noticed that every person Kennedy's been involved with over the last five years has been petite, pale and a red head?” Xander asked, sounding as incredulous as Faith felt. Really? Buffy hadn't noticed?

“Ok, that's just kind of creepy,” replied Buffy.

“Look who's talking, Miss 'I don't date anyone less than a hundred years old',” taunted Xander.

“Faith,” interrupted Giles. “Are you telling us that Kennedy mistakenly thought this woman was Willow and attacked her?”

“No. I'm telling you that this woman 'is' Willow, and that Kennedy attacked her in what she thought was an overly eager and rough reunion,” Faith corrected.

“Faith--”

“Don't tell me I don't know Willow, Giles,” Faith snapped. “I know what she looks and sounds like, and this was her. Just – older and different.”

“Different, how?” asked Xander, and Faith caught the underlying note of him wanting to _believe_. Xander had been the most devastated when they'd come out of Sunnydale without Willow, and Faith could understand. They'd been friends for years longer than any of the others; at points in their lives their entire identities had been wrapped up in the other.

“She doesn't remember us. Any of us. Or this – our world,” she said, not having to explain what she meant. “Some rescue workers found her on the road outside of Sunnydale a few days after it went all sinkhole. Her first memory is of waking up in the hospital.”

“Oh God.” That was Buffy.

“Are you sure it's her?” asked Xander desperately. “It could be some sick trick to get us to LA and catch us off guard.”

“I can do some more digging, but I had a nice long chat with her and her muscle boy at the police station,” Faith added. “My spidey sense didn’t twig once that entire time.”

“Well, that is something,” conceded Giles. “Please do investigate some more, Faith. To find her alive after five years, and in LA of all places, is too much of a coincidence.”

“I'm just telling you what I saw, ok,” she said, not willing to vouch for this woman to her friends. “I just know that she looks and sounds like Willow. A lot of the little things are the same, but a lot of them are different.”

“There's that word again,” muttered Buffy.

“What's different?” asked Xander.

“Well, she's driving stick again, for one,” Faith said with raunchy glee. “Got herself this gorgeous, hot boy toy with some tight muscles.”

“Faith!” reprimanded Giles, but she could hear Buffy giggle and Xander groan, so she figured her job was done in that regard.

“Look, from what I understand, she woke up with no family, no friends and no memories,” Faith said. “Pulling yourself up out of that takes a lot – it's enough to change a person, even one who knew who they were to start with.”

“So, 'different',” confirmed Xander, finally getting her meaning.

“Yeah.”

“I want to see her,” announced Buffy, surprising no one, least of all Faith.

“Got that covered, B. Boy toy gave me their number while Willow was running all pale-like to the washroom. Said to give him a call if others – not Kennedy – wanted to meet with them,” Faith said. “Couple of restrictions, like public places, no touching unless Willow initiates, that kind of thing.”

“You said Willow was hurt – that Kennedy hurt her,” interrupted Xander, changing the focus of the conversation.

“Yeah. It could have been worse, but it still wasn't pretty.”

“What were her injuries?” asked Giles, his voice turning Head Watcher.

“Mostly bruises and scrapes from what I could see, but she was walking like her ribs hurt. And nobody wears long sleeves in ninety degree LA weather unless they're hiding something. I've come out of apocalypses looking better.”

“Could any of this have been from him? They 'boy toy' I mean?” asked Xander.

“Normally I would say 'maybe', but I get the feeling that if he even tried, Red would be out the door before the apologies could start,” explained Faith. “Also, she'd just come from a visit to her doctor's who swore up and down that less than an hour before the attack, there hadn't been even one bruise on her anywhere.”

“I think this situation requires our personal attention, Buffy. Xander,” announced Giles into the silence.

“Yes. I completely agree, Giles,” said Xander.

“Does this mean we get to use the private jet?” asked Buffy.

Faith was glad Buffy had her priorities straight.

End Part 20


	22. Chapter 22

The engine of the SUV went silent, ticking as it cooled down in the lazy afternoon sun. Don got out, ready to cross the street to the Java Bean, when he realized Willow wasn’t beside him.

“You still want to do this?” he asked her, seeing her frozen by the passenger side door. When a grimace and a bitten lip were his only response, Don moved in front of her, pulling her restless hands away from where they were compulsively playing with the hem of her blouse.

“We can do this another time,” Don reminded her. He’d been cursing himself all day for setting this meeting so late in the afternoon. It left Willow almost an entire day to worry and fret over everything that could possibly go wrong in the first meeting with her old friends.

After spending two full hours on her hair alone, and looking at nearly twice that in a skirt vs pants debate, Don had called over Amita.

The rest of the morning devolved into girl talk on subjects he absolutely refused to think about, leaving Don time to go over the information he’d managed to gather on the people they would be meeting. He wasn’t going into this meeting blind and without backup. Willow’s past was already 2-0 against them, and he had been willing to do whatever it took to minimize any damage that might result from another disaster.

“No, I want-I need to talk to them,” Willow whispered, her eyes finally moving to meet his. “I need to know about who I was.”

“It’s not going to change who you are now,” Don told her, a phrase he’d repeated a dozen times already.

His father had put it more bluntly when he’d said, “What, you think if they say you didn’t like strawberries or were a chain smoker, you’ll suddenly start shunning strawberries and lighting up all the time?”

Remembering the look of surprise/shock/disbelief on Willow’s face made Don smile even now. His father had a way of getting to the heart of the matter that was distinctly unique.

“I know,” agreed Willow.

With a decisive nod, Willow headed for the coffee shop she’d already spent so much time in as an employee, leaving Don to follow in her wake. Though she didn’t make it too far in before an unnaturally red head leapt from behind the counter to wrap Willow in a hug. Cherry had worked at the Java Bean longer than Willow had been in LA, and Don had no doubt that she’d still be there for years to come. She’d been a good friend to Willow over the years, keeping in touch even after Willow had moved on.

Don smiled at Cherry’s antics, knowing from experience that it was mostly an act. It was a good one, too, as most people didn’t bother to look beyond the overly exuberant attitude to the woman underneath. It was good camouflage, and Don didn’t begrudge her an inch of the protection it gave her.

Moving around Willow and Cherry, Don went to the counter, deliberately ignoring the foursome on the nearby couches watching the hugging duo with varying degrees of amusement, shock and hope. Don nodded a greeting to the manager, Pete, as he stepped up to the counter. He ordered tea and coffee for him and Willow, watching the group behind him in the reflection of the glass pastry case.

Willow had finished her ritual hugging meet-n-greet with Cherry, making her way over to him. She reached his side at the same time Pete had the overly large mugs ready on the counter.

“You ready?” he whispered as he turned to grab the mugs. Her shaky nod and whispered ‘yes’ were her only responses, so he started moving towards where Faith and the others were not-so-patiently waiting.

Both of them knew who each of these people were, because one of Don’s requests to Faith had been names and photos of the people they would be meeting, as well as some general information. It had helped distract Willow somewhat, and gave Don some much needed information to start looking into their backgrounds. Nothing about these people had come up from Willow’s background check years ago, but that was understandable given that almost everything Sunnydale-related had sunk with the town.

That they had supposedly been Willow’s best friends and family, yet hadn’t found her – if they’d even gone looking – for five years, raised some red flags in Don’s mind. In fact, they wouldn’t even be here if it hadn’t been for a chance sighting in a crowded park in the middle of LA.

The first thing Don noticed was that they’d arranged themselves in such a way that Willow would be separated from him. A single seat on the couch and another on the two person sofa were free, and Don managed to keep from rolling his eyes at the blatantly obvious ploy. Instead, he put the mugs down on the nearest table, and reached behind him for the closest armchair, pulling it towards the circle of couches and chairs.

Willow smiled at his antics; her first true smile since they’d left the apartment, and sat down in the chair with her mug of tea. Don grabbed his coffee and sat on the arm of the chair, daring any of them to say anything.

Faith, at least, seemed amused by the whole thing.

“So, umm – Hi,” Willow said after introductions had been made, breaking the strained silence with an awkward wave. Don didn’t need to see her face to know she was wearing a forced, hesitant smile.

“You’ll have to excuse them, Red,” Faith said into the ensuing silence. “They’re just a little stunned to see you all alive-like.”

“Yes, sorry. Apologies,” said the older man, the one Don knew was Rupert Giles. He was a British national that had lived in Sunnydale for nearly six years, but had returned to England permanently over a year before Sunnydale sunk. That didn’t stop him from visiting a few times, the most interesting one being the months before the Sunnydale disaster.

Custom records also said that he had been on the same flight as Willow when she’d gone to England for several months.

“It’s simply that after five years, we had resigned ourselves to the fact that you were dead.”

“So, you _didn’t_ think I was dead?” Willow asked. Don could hear the frown in her voice, and knew it matched the one on his face. They had obviously been confident enough in her supposed death to tell Willow’s parents of their daughter’s death, and there’d been no search or other inquiries about some missing person with Willow’s characteristics.

“We were aware that there was a high probability that you’d died when Sunnydale collapsed, but even the smallest chance of survival, no matter how miniscule, left us some hope,” replied Giles. He had a smile on his face that Don had seen on many of the people he interviewed; that mix of desperate belief and hope, with a hint of lies beneath.

“But you decided to tell everyone else she was dead?” asked Don.

“We never really gave up,” the blonde – Buffy – chimed in, “We’ve been looking for you ever since-“

A huff of disbelief interrupted Buffy, this time coming from Willow. Don was glad that he wasn’t the only person not buying the ‘we’ve been looking for you, promise’ story.

“You’ve been looking for me? For five years?” asked Willow, barely giving any of them time to do more than nod, “And you couldn’t find me?”

Don could feel the stillness of Willow’s body; that, coupled with the precision of her words, told Don that out of all the emotions she’d been dealing with lately, anger was about to win out.

Shifting his position slightly, Don moved his body until his thigh was touching her arm, a signal he hoped she picked up on.

“You obviously weren’t looking very hard,” Willow finished with barely a stutter, her body relaxing slightly as she subtly leaned in to him.

“No, Willow – we did everything, we looked everywhere,” exclaimed Buffy, shifting forward in her seat, her face pleading Willow – and even Don – to believe her.

“Thirty seconds on Google would have found me.”

Don knew Willow well enough to know that the flat, even tone she used meant she was nearing the breaking point. Ever since the conversation with Faith in the police station, Willow had been cycling through different emotions and moods with startling frequency, most of which Don was fairly certain couldn’t be attributed to pregnancy hormones. Not yet, anyway. Still, the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days was catching up with her; with both of them, really.

The Google thing was completely true – Willow found far too much enjoyment in Googling the names of people she knew – but beyond that, her parents had managed to find her while looking for Willow’s supposed dead body. Technically, it had been the private investigator they’d hired, but the principle was still the same. Several months worth of careful digging had reunited Willow with her parents, yet five years of intensive searching by her friends, and nothing.

“Willow – I – we-“ Buffy looked surprised and lost, like the meeting wasn’t following whatever scene she’d planned out in her head. Don found he wasn’t too upset about that, if it were true.

“Guess we just didn’t look in the right place. Or use the right tools,” announced Xander, a sad smile directed at Willow. Don gave the man a few points in his favour. Xander Harris was apparently the peacekeeper in their group, stepping in to diffuse tense situations the same way Megan often did.

This guy wasn’t so bad. And Faith said Xander and Willow had been best friends since kindergarten. Willow may still have amnesia, but her ability to find loyal and caring friends was apparently hard wired into her very being.

“Let’s just skip past this whole topic, ok?” asked Willow, some of the strain leaving her voice. Willow might think they were lying about looking for her, but Don didn’t think so. He’d interviewed enough people in his career to get a feel for when someone was lying, and this group was not lying. Not about the searching, anyway. They really had been looking for Willow to some extent, but for whatever reason hadn’t used any of the standard channels available to them, and that had Don curious.

Silence fell over the group, an unspoken acceptance plain to see on their faces.

“So, um, Sunnydale,” began Willow, “What happened there?”

“It sunk,” announced Faith with a smirk. Don sent her a brief glare for being completely unhelpful.

“We got that,” he said. “What about before? Why did you think Willow was dead?”

Don watched as Buffy and Xander shifted in their seats. They obviously didn’t want to talk about the incident, but Don knew that Willow did. Here were people who could answer questions they both had about Sunnydale, and Don was determined to get some answers out of them.

“Well,” said Buffy, taking a deep breath. “You know how everyone in the town just got up and left days before Sunnydale was destroyed?”

Willow and Don both nodded. It was just one of the many mysteries surrounding that town – the mass evacuation that no one had announced or talked about, but had saved the lives of everyone who lived there.

“Well, not everyone left. Some people stayed behind for whatever reason, refusing to abandon their home and town.” This was something Don was familiar with, knowing of hundreds of cases where people in the paths of wild fires, hurricanes or floods refused to leave their homes. “Some of us stayed behind to try and evacuate as many people as possible.”

Don knew from reports that fire and police had been some of the first to leave. The town had been abandoned by everyone in authority. He was just amazed that some people had stayed behind to help.

“You’d been paired up with Kennedy, doing a room to room search in the high school,” Xander picked up the story. “The two of you split up when another team needed help. Kennedy didn’t get back to your last known location until the ground was literally shaking. You weren’t there. We didn’t have time to do any kind of search before the ground was falling away beneath our feet and we had to evac.”

The cadence and sentence structure had a more military feel to it than anyone not in some kind of law enforcement or with military training would normally have. Xander’s record had shown neither.

“We had to drag Kennedy out of the school, kicking and screaming,” Buffy added, as if trying to explain Kennedy’s attachment and actions from a few days ago. Don wasn’t willing to let the unstable woman off the hook, and didn’t think Willow was, either. No past relationship – even if Willow did remember it – excused Kennedy.

“How about we not talk about Kennedy,” Don suggested, pinning Buffy with a look. Despite what these people might think, Don wasn’t threatened by Kennedy – not by her presence, or by her apparent romantic relationship with his girlfriend, especially one that Willow couldn’t even remember. No, Don wanted the topic of Kennedy off the table because it brought up too many unpleasant memories and feelings in both himself and Willow.

“You didn’t look for me after the town collapsed?” asked Willow. “Didn’t try to contact anyone to file a missing person’s report to see if I’d been found?”

“Try to understand, Willow. The high school was the epicentre of the collapse,” explained Giles, speaking up. “If you had survived the collapse, we were confident you would contact us as soon as you were able. And the news channels had no reports of any survivors, or even any bodies pulled from the rubble.”

“But still-“

“I thought we weren’t talking about this,” interrupted Don with a hand on Willow’s shoulder. He could feel her trembling slightly beneath his hand, and squeezed her shoulder in reassurance. Don wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yes. Right.” Don felt her take in a deep breath before drinking some of her tea.

“So, you work with computers?” asked Giles, making an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled around them.

“Um, yes,” nodded Willow. Don watched as she was pulled into a conversation with Giles, and then Xander, about her job and what her life was like, which detoured into anecdotes from her life Before (courtesy of Buffy and Xander) and now. And throughout it all, Don attempted to remain a calm presence by Willow’s side, which only sort of worked.

He was trying really hard not to see this as a contest between Willow’s new life and her old one, with the winner getting Willow in their lives, but he was failing spectacularly. Every time Willow stiffened up or shifted in her seat, every time her voice wobbled when asking a question or she stuttered over an answer, Don mentally added another point in the column against these people.

They might know Willow from childhood onwards – know every scar and story from her past, every experience that made her the person they had loved, but that wasn’t the same Willow he saw now. Some of the stories Buffy and Xander – and even Giles, occasionally – painted a vastly different picture of who Willow was. Don could pick out shared characteristics and even some similar behaviour patterns (the frog thing made so much more sense now) between their Willow and his Willow, but in his mind, they were two very different people.

Nearly an hour later, Don felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, and almost breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption.

Don looked at the caller ID before answering, “Hey, Dad.”

_“Donny, good. What time are you and Willow coming over for dinner?”_ Don wasn’t fooled for an instant. His father was fully aware of where they were and who they were meeting. That he’d called during the time frame that they would most likely still be meeting with these people meant he was worried about how Willow was dealing with everything.

Because Alan knew full well that Don and Willow would be heading over to the house immediately after this get-together was over.

“We’re kind of in the middle of something. Is it important?” replied Don, catching Willow’s eyes as she looked at him.

_“What?”_ asked a confused sounding Alan. _“Are they still there? Is this code? Are you talking in some secret FBI code, Don?”_

“She’s right here,” Don said, handing the phone over to Willow as if he’d been having a completely coherent conversation with his father.

Willow gratefully took the phone and soon left to find slightly more privacy in the back room Pete opened for her.

As the ‘Employees Only’ door closed behind her, Don suddenly realized he was alone with these four strangers who comprised a large chunk of Willow’s past. Four strangers who were all staring intently at the door hiding Willow from them.

He should probably have felt more nervous than he really did, but that hadn’t stopped him before.

“So, how long have you known Willow?” asked Giles, leaning forward in his chair slightly.

Don waited a breath before replying, “Three years.”

“And you’re close?”

“We’ve been living together for over six months,” Don told him, keeping as close to the truth as possible. He wasn’t about to say they’d only been a couple for just over a year – these people might see that as a relatively short relationship that wasn’t of much concern in the grand scheme of getting Willow back. Don also wasn’t about to explain the years of friendship before that; years he’d spent building up a closeness and trust that wasn’t easy for him to find outside of work and family.

“You work for the FBI?” asked Xander, seeming to become interested in the conversation. “How long?”

“Nearly fifteen years,” Don told them.

“Did you meet Willow through a case?” asked Buffy, finally pulling her attention away from the door Willow had gone through.

“No,” said Don, taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee.

“Through a friend, then?” continued Buffy, sounding annoyed.

“Not really.” He remembered how frustrated he got when a suspect gave minimal answers in an interrogation, and the enjoyment he was feeling right now helped him understand those suspects a little better. Wouldn’t stop him from getting as annoyed as these people seemed to be, though.

“Willow was a part-time data analyst at the FBI when I first met her,” he offered, feeling only mildly guilty for playing games with them. He had to remind himself that they were just as excited at finally finding Willow as Willow had been, though for different reasons.

“I thought she worked at that computer company?” Buffy asked, confused.

“She does. The full-time position came after years of contract work for them, and only in the last year,” Don explained. “Before that she worked a variety of part-time positions and contract work.”

Don didn’t really want to explain how stressed out Willow had been when he’d first met her. She’d been working three jobs to pay the bills and keep up with everything, and Don had never been so happy for her as when Arctic Morgan had taken her on full-time.

Deciding that there had been enough Willow and Don talk for this meeting, Don deliberately changed the subject to something that had been percolating in the back of his mind ever since he’d run their names through the FBI’s system.

“So, you all knew each other in Sunnydale? At the high school?” he asked, waiting until they’d all nodded.

“And now you all work for the same international company that’s based in London? How did that happen?”

The quick, darting glances between them didn’t leave him feeling relieved.

End Part 21

 

~!~

  
Dialogue I really wanted to add: “You break her heart and I’ll beat you to death with a shovel.”

“I know one of the top snipers in the country, who just happens to have a soft spot for Willow. You make her cry - you wouldn’t feel it coming until you were face down on the pavement.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel S5 – last few episodes didn't happen, so Angel &amp; co. are still in charge of W&amp;H.

It was a subdued group that walked back into the hotel suite several hours later.

Buffy had taken off to her room, cell phone clutched in her hand, and Giles didn’t doubt that Angel would be getting an earful soon enough. The vampire did live in LA, after all, and with the entirety of Wolfram and Hart at his disposal, it seemed suspicious that neither Angel nor his team had ever mentioned Willow being in LA. Alive and in LA.

Faith seemed the least fazed by the entire meeting, but then again this wasn’t her first meeting with Willow. Faith had time to adjust to the fact that Willow had no memory of Faith or even of the Willow they all knew from years before.

Giles watched as Xander dropped onto the plush sofa, looking every bit the teenager Giles couldn’t help but see him as. Heading for the ridiculously well-stocked bar, Giles poured himself a generous glass of scotch. He realized that both Buffy and Xander had been of the irrational belief that Willow would suddenly regain her memory at the sight of her friends and immediately return to England with them as if the last five years had been swept away.

He couldn’t really blame them, he supposed, considering he’d had some thoughts along those same lines.

But Willow hadn’t miraculously regained her memory, and it didn’t seem likely that she would be leaving LA any time in the near future. That point had been made fairly concretely by Mr Eppes. Giles had watched their interaction closely, and while his paternal side bristled at seeing this man – and he was most definitely a _man_, not a boy – lay claim to one of his children, part of Giles was pleased to see that Willow had someone who cared so very deeply for her. Eppes hadn’t been out of arms reach the entire time, but his presence hadn’t been intrusive. Well, it hadn’t been _too_ intrusive.

“So how is Willow suddenly not gay?”

Xander. The one person Giles could always count on to break those tedious silences.

“I don’t believe it was ‘sudden’, Xander,” Giles chided, sipping his drink.

Xander lifted one hand, palm up, and said, “Before amnesia; gay,” then raised his other hand, mirroring the first, “After amnesia; not gay.”

“I really don’t believe the amnesia has anything to do with Willow’s sexual orientation.” It was a sign of how long Giles had been around teenagers and young adults, that the words ‘sexual orientation’ in relation to one of his children barely garnered a rosy cheek or a mild stutter.

He really needed some more adult friends.

“Hey, I’d switch teams, too, if it meant I got to hit that,” Faith chimed in, much to Giles’ despair.

“No perving on Willow boyfriend,” announced Xander, a finger pointed in her direction.

“I’m just sayin’.” Faith sat down in the nearest armchair, looking not the least bit contrite. Not that she ever was. It had been years since the Hellmouth had collapsed during their battle with the First, even longer since she’d been a young slayer, arriving on the Hellmouth for the first time running from the vampire that killed her watcher. Despite all these years and all the battles and maturing she had gone through, Faith was still Faith.

It was as comforting as it was disturbing.

“He didn’t believe us,” said Xander, after a moment. Giles didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what the younger man was talking about.

Sunnydale, and the story they’d spun to explain away the unexplainable for people who did not know of the supernatural.

“No, he didn’t,” agreed Giles. “I don’t know if Willow did or not, she’s harder to read than she used to be.”

“She doesn’t buy it, either,” commented Faith, somewhat subdued. “I think she was trying to make herself believe, but it wasn’t working. And Eppes won’t let her try and fool herself.”

“No, he won’t.” Despite the obvious support Don had given Willow during the meeting, and most likely over the years, Giles couldn’t help but think that they would have a better chance of getting Willow back to them if he wasn’t in the picture.

“I really, really wanted to give him the shovel speech,” Xander groused, his arms crossed in front of him. Giles was of the same opinion, even though common sense dictated that threatening Agent Eppes with bodily harm should he hurt Willow in any way, would only lead to a nasty confrontation he wasn’t sure he would walk away from.

“Somehow, I don’t see that working out too well for you,” grinned Faith, echoing Giles’ thoughts. “I get the feeling Boy Toy’s got a whole heap of connections and favours owed him that guaranteed if he missed, someone else wouldn’t.”

“You know something, Faith,” said Xander, pulling himself up to stare intently at Faith.

Giles watched in fascination as Faith rolled her head to look at Xander, relaxing further into the plush chair. He’d never really understood the friendship that had developed between these two, but he wasn’t going to pass up a front row seat to one of their discussions. Hopefully it would be as entertaining as some of the younger slayers claimed.

“I know a lot of things, Xan-man. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Faith,” warned Xander, the hard edged tone to his voice making Giles’ Ripper instincts stand on edge.

Faith just rolled her eyes and huffed a sigh, as if she were doing Xander some incredible favour by continuing this conversation. “Fine.”

“The night before you guys got here, after I’d taken care of Her Royal Princess, I went around to some of the upper scale demon hangouts.”

“Faith,” Giles reprimanded, uncomfortable with how lax Faith and many of the other slayers were with their well-being. Simply because there were more of them, did not mean that they were more expendable and able to take more risks.

“Calm down, Giles. These weren’t the dive bars where anything goes and a single dead body on the floor means a slow night. These are places you go for real information; where the entire building is covered by a sanctuary spell.”

Giles felt himself calm down some, but still wished Faith would have a little more care for her personal safety. A slayer in a demon bar, even one protected by sanctuary, was still a temptation few of the upper level demons would pass up.

“What did you find out?” asked Xander, and Giles realized he wouldn’t be getting any help from that corner. By all accounts, Xander was fond of the same tactic.

“Eppes has made a name for himself in some circles,” she told them.

“Demon circles?” Giles clarified. “He’s part of the community?” This was not something he wanted to hear.

“Not part of the community, but they know him,” Faith said. “His team works on some of the nastiest cases in the city. He’s crossed paths with some of the tribes and clans in the city, but he never knew and they left him alone.”

“He’s worked on demon cases?”

“Not exactly. From what I was told, there were a few instances of some human-looking demons being fingered as the perps, but those were usually either frame jobs or wrong-place-wrong-time cases, and they were sorted out in the end. But that wasn’t what got him noticed.”

“So what did?” asked Xander, sounding as interested as Giles was.

“He’s taken down some of the darkest, nastiest bad guys in the city – human bad guys. Human bad guys who were interfering or killing demons in the community. They usually couldn’t go after whoever it was themselves – too well protected – but Eppes managed to take them down.”

“There was one case alone got him a couple life debts from some Triba demons,” finished Faith.

“Huh,” was all Xander said, falling against the back of the couch.

“Very interesting,” agreed Giles, taking a drink to ponder this newest development.

“If you wanted, I could spread the word that Eppes’ girlfriend is a good friend of the Slayer and the Council. Might give her some extra protection from the uglies that roam at night,” suggested Faith.

Giles pondered that for a bit. While his first instinct was to agree, give Willow as much protection as he could, his brain piped up with the rational, logical argument that claiming Willow in front of the LA demon community would only expose her to more danger. And her current situation didn’t allow for her to defend herself as she might once have.

“I suggest we hold off for now. I would rather not bring Willow to the attention of the demon community,” argued Giles. Faith and Xander nodded in agreement.

“Stupid vampire!”

A slam accompanied the yell as Buffy left the bedroom, closing the door behind her with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Tall, dark and broody have anything to say?” asked Xander. He hadn’t moved a muscle as Buffy had come storming back in, but then, neither had Giles. They were both more than used to the women in their lives shouting, screaming, throwing things and threatening to kill everyone and everything in sight.

“_’It’s a city with four million people’_,” parroted Buffy, cell phone gripped tightly in one hand. “_’I can’t be responsible for knowing every single person in LA’_.”

“He’s kind of got a point, B,” put in Faith, and Giles stifled a groan. Buffy needed to be angry at someone, and if that person was Angel rather than her sister slayer, then Giles was more than happy to let Buffy rant at the absent vampire.

Buffy just glared at Faith before turning her attention to Giles, confirming that she was going to ignore Faith.

“Riley left a message. Finally,” Buffy told him. Giles quirked an eyebrow, interested in hearing what he had to say. Buffy may have directed her anger at Angel, but Giles had set his sights firmly on Riley and the American military. They had been all over the Sunnydale crater within hours of its collapse, and he didn’t doubt for a minute that someone in Riley’s area had been involved in some aspect. The military knew what Sunnydale was, and would have definitely sent someone to investigate, someone who was fully aware of Buffy and her friends.

So the fact that no one had mentioned that Willow had been found alive and near the ruins of Sunnydale, was a suspicious oversight.

“He did some digging, and it seems that their records did show that Willow had been found alive and well. But because she had such complete amnesia, they decided that they couldn’t use her for any helpful information. The report was filed and put away, and no mention of it was made beyond a few case references numbers.”

“I’m still not seeing how they didn’t connect memory-less Willow with Sunnydale-witch Willow,” commented Xander.

“Riley said they sent a full team to Sunnydale when it went under, but after a few days of finding nothing they sent all but the most junior of the team back. The guy who wrote the report was new and didn’t understand the importance of just who Willow was, beyond being the only survivor,” explained Buffy. “Apparently he’s being ripped a new one.”

She sounded oddly pleased about that, and Giles didn’t have it in him to feel any differently.

“Does anyone else feel like a complete tool about that Google thing?” asked Buffy after a pause, throwing herself down on the couch next to Xander.

Xander grunted and reluctantly raised his hand, compelling Giles to do the same. Faith just slumped further down in her chair.

“She didn’t believe that we were looking for her,” continued Buffy. “But we were. Even after five years, we still asked around every time we came into contact with a group of demons or witches.”

“That, I believe, was the problem,” Giles commented. “We looked for her in the supernatural community. All our searches involved demons, witches, and magic. How can we tell her that we performed scrying spells instead of filing police reports.”

“Why didn’t she come up on any of the spells?” asked Buffy. “Willow’s a witch – a pretty powerful one. Yet every time someone looked for her, there was nothing.”

“Yes, well, I believe this is part of the answer.” Giles put down his glass and pulled out the cloth-wrapped amulet from his pocket.

“Yeah, what was up with the tacky jewellery, Giles?” wondered Faith.

Giles unwrapped the cloth, revealing a palm sized, round amulet. It was a tarnished golden colour, with inlayed stones of green and blue. He’d concocted some absurd story about finding the piece of jewellery near where Willow had disappeared in Sunnydale, and asked her if it seemed familiar in any way. Buffy, Xander and Faith had remained silent as Willow held the amulet and inspected it, before returning it with a regretful smile.

“I, too, had wondered about our lack of success in locating Willow using magic, so I brought this with me,” he explained. “It’s not dangerous, but it is attuned to all types of magic, be it human or demon.”

Picking up the amulet in his bare hands, he watched as it glowed a brilliant green, sending warm pulses through his finger tips. He handed it over to Faith, where it promptly turned blue.

“Freaky deaky, watcher man, but what does this have to do with anything?” asked Faith as she passed it on to Buffy, where it glowed that same iridescent blue.

“It picks up on even the faintest traces of magic. The amulet is mostly used to determine if a prospective applicant has the ability to become an apprentice in a coven.” Giles watched as Buffy flipped it over in her hands, inspecting the glowing stones. “If you’ll remember, I made sure I didn’t touch it directly in the coffee shop when handing it over. It glowed green when I touched it – that’s for human or earth magic. Blue is for supernatural or demon magic, which is what I believe powers the slayer line.”

Buffy passed the amulet over to Xander, where both colours lit up the amulet.

“Uh, Giles?” asked Xander, concern evident in his voice as he held the amulet away from his body.

“Don’t worry, Xander. It’s perfectly normal,” Giles soothed as took the amulet out of Xander’s hands. “You have no magic yourself, but seeing as you spend all your time around witches and slayers, it’s not surprising that you’ve soaked up some of their natural magics.”

“I’ve soaked up magic? Like a sponge? I’m a sponge?” cried out Xander.

“In the magical sense of the word, yes,” confirmed Giles, though he refrained from adding that this was most likely the source of his much complained about ‘demon magnetism’. The boy had enough to worry about as it was.

Xander simply moaned and covered his face with his hands. “I’m a sponge,” he kept repeating.

“Hey, I can go find you a pineapple, if you’re interested,” joked Faith, pointing a thumb towards the door.

“Shut up,” groaned Xander, though Giles could detect a hint of amusement in his voice.

“What does this have to do with Willow?” redirected Buffy, a smile having replaced the frown on her face. “That thing didn’t go all glowy on her at all.”

“That, I’m afraid, is the problem,” Giles told them. “Even before she started to dabble in magic, Willow had a strong vein of magic in her. It only grew stronger as she trained, and after Tara…well, it was enormous. Willow became incredibly powerful in a very short time, and that power is why we asked her to be the one to perform the spell to activate all the slayers.”

“Ok, but that’s gone? Is that what you’re saying?” Xander asked.

“In a way. I’m not certain what happened or how, but at the moment, Willow doesn’t have a drop of magic in her. That is why none of the spells were working, because we were looking for a witch among the population, instead of an ordinary human. We simply never considered the possibility that Willow had lost her magic.”

“But how can that happen?” demanded Buffy.

“I’m not entirely certain,” Giles replied.

“But you have an idea,” prompted Xander, who was becoming too shrewd as he aged.

“I – have a theory,” Giles admitted, pursing his lips.

“Well, let’s hear it,” announced Faith, pushing herself upright.

“I believe everything that’s happened to Willow has to do with the Scythe, and the spell she performed to activate the slayers.”

“How?” “What do you mean?”

“Please, calm down,” he told them with a raised hand, as if to hold them back. How three people could sound like a group five times their size was something Giles had yet to figure out.

“I’d always thought that the Scythe had something to do with Willow’s disappearance,” he admitted, though by the hesitant nods he saw, he hadn’t been the only one with such suspicions. “I began to research the Scythe, looking for every scrap of information I could discover. What little I could find said that the Scythe could only be wielded by a slayer. We all thought it meant physically, but I found a passage in a book in a library in Prague that made mention of grave consequences for any being who wielded the Scythe by either hand or magic.”

“So the Scythe took Willow, then took her magic and her memory?” asked Faith, incredulously.

“The Scythe was not meant to be used by someone other than a slayer,” Giles reiterated, giving them some time to process what he’d told them. He himself had nearly a year to come to terms with the idea that their final strike against the First had resulted in the loss of Willow, but the others were just learning of it.

“Can we do anything? Is there some spell or something we can do to get Willow back?” asked Buffy somewhat desperately.

“Yeah, I mean, if it’s all magical, can’t we just break the spell and get Willow her memory and magic back?” added Faith.

“I don’t believe it would work that way,” cautioned Giles. “I’m not certain what happened to her magic, but the loss of her memories may well have been a spell, one we can break or undo.”

“Yes. Research. Let’s do it,” proclaimed Xander, sounding excited about the prospect for what was most likely the first time in his life.

“Actually -” began Giles, only to be interrupted.

“You have a spell, already. Don’t you, Giles,” stated Buffy, a fond smile on her face.

“I have a spell,” he confirmed. “Not for breaking or undoing anything – that will require more research – but it does reveal the pattern of the last spell performed on an object. I’ve altered it somewhat for our purposes, and either Buffy or Faith will have to perform it, but it should gain us some answers.”

“Let’s do it,” said Buffy. Xander and Faith added their voices for support, and Giles just nodded in acceptance.

~!~

“So why didn’t you do this before now?” Xander wondered some time later. Xander and Giles were standing off to the side of the room, watching as Faith and Buffy prepared the spell around the Scythe.

No one had raised an eyebrow when Giles had pulled out the case containing the Scythe, for which he was grateful. He’d had an inkling that it might be needed at some point during this trip, mostly due to his mounting suspicions that the weapon had a great deal to do with Willow’s disappearance, and newly discovered memory loss. And the magic loss, as well.

“We had no proof Willow was alive or dead,” answered Giles. “I had a theory that Willow’s disappearance was linked to the Scythe, but no concrete proof. Also, I was afraid that I would find the answers that I was looking for.”

Giles saw Xander nod out of the corner of his eye, and knew the younger man understood. With Willow missing, there was hope that she was alive. Performing this ritual before now would have possibly told them that she was dead and they preferred to live with some small hope of life, rather than certain knowledge of death.

“We’re ready,” announced Buffy, stepping away from the circle of herbs staining the expensive white carpet.

“You can begin at any time, Buffy,” Giles told her. He kept his distance from the two slayers, hoping that he and Xander were far enough away that their presence would not be seen as interference, and thus no need for those consequences that had most likely gotten Willow in trouble in the first place.

He watched as the two women sprinkled and burned herbs, said phrases in dead languages and laid offerings next to the Scythe. Giles could feel the air in the room thicken with power, and moved to press his back more firmly against the wall. A dark wind swept over the room, circling the slayers and the Scythe in a slow but forceful whirlwind.

Already Giles knew the spell had gone wrong, or at least, was acting differently when in contact with the Scythe. He’d seen and performed this type of casting before, and never had the power called been so heavy and dangerous and _foreign_. This was not the magic he was use to dealing with, and he realized with a jolt that this was slayer magic. This was the pure, unfiltered power found at the core of each slayer, let loose and wild.

Willow, no matter how powerful, never would have been able to contain or channel this. Not on her own, or even with a full coven. It would have been akin to a spider web trying to channel an atomic blast.

Willow was lucky to have survived.

But the spell _was_ taking shape, Giles noted, seeing the vaguely ghost-like form beginning to solidify between Buffy and Faith. There was simply more going on than the original spell.

Giles was almost positive that in previous instances, the spell had not caused every light bulb in the room to explode. Or the windows to crack and the glasses scattered about the room to shatter.

The sudden silence confused him, and he realized that the wind and power together had been howling and deafening in his ears. His head felt oddly empty without the build-up of pressure.

_“You call to me with wondrous songs; what do you wish, my Chosen Ones?”_

A lilting voice filled Giles’ head, setting up a pounding behind his eyes that made him long for an ice pick to gouge the bone and relieve the pressure building in his temple. The voice brought a picture of his literature professor from college, the woman who had made his life a living hell for more months than he cared to remember. This creature or demon or whatever it was, had the same haughty, disdainful tone of voice that Professor Halkenbury had.

He liked it even less now.

“Who are you?” asked Buffy, looking around in confusion, her face lit by the small ritual fire set next to the Scythe. It was the only light source in the room, and seemed strangely undisturbed by the wind that had never stopped blowing through the room.

_”A weapon forged in blood and fire. You test my patience and my ire.”_

“Huh?”

_”The Chosen guard against the night; keeping others safe until first light. This weapon forged for Chosen hands; is guarded by those times of sands.”_

“Right. That made even less sense,” commented Faith as she looked over at Giles. “You gettin’ any of this?”

“Yes. I believe I’m beginning to understand, Faith,” he said, blinking through the pain in his head. “I’ll explain it later.” Later would be best. Every word spoken drove the pain to higher levels, and a quick glance at Xander showed that he was holding up only slightly better than Giles was.

“Continue,” he urged.

“What about Willow? What happened to Willow?” Buffy asked, addressing the air around her.

_”A choice put forth; a decision made. The little witch asked for aid.”_

“So you made her choose? Give up her friends, her family, her memories, all because no one told us the fine print on this thing?” Buffy yelled, pointing down at the Scythe.

_”The slayer line continues on; the battle’s won, the war is long.”_

“Oh, don’t even try to push this as a good thing,” argued Faith. “She was trying to help us – trying to stop the First from destroying the slayer line. It wasn’t for her own purposes or against us!”

Silence met Faith’s words.

“Can you fix it? Can you give Willow back what you took?” demanded Buffy, looking near to her breaking point. Giles wished he could comfort her like in the past, but the power filling the room was still thick enough to choke on, and his head felt like it was about to explode.

_”A deal was made; A bargain struck. The little witch is out of luck.”_

“No! No, you give her back what you took!” yelled Buffy, waving her arms threateningly.

Suddenly, the magic left the room as abruptly as it arrived, taking with it the wind and the unnatural headache. Giles breathed a sigh of relief, which caught in his throat as he took in the ghostly figure standing in between Buffy and Faith.

“Willow,” he breathed, only peripherally aware that the others turned immediately to look at what had caught his attention.

“Well, sort of,” the figure admitted with a false smile. “I’m Willow, but only the parts of her that were left behind.”

“It’s so good to see you again,” whispered Buffy. Giles tried not to wince for the girl who saw this echo of her friend as more real than the flesh and blood version they’d met only a few hours ago.

“I can’t really say the same – it’s only been a few minutes for me,” she told them. “I just saw Kennedy leave the room with the Scythe, to go and join the battle. How did that turn out, by the way?”

“We won,” smiled Buffy.

“Sunnydale lost. Big time,” added Faith.

“Yeah, you know how we joked that it if Sunnydale sunk into a hole, no one would miss it? We were mostly right,” put in Xander, moving away from the wall.

Ghost-Willow just looked surprised, but not as surprised as she should have. Giles wondered if that was because she already knew and was just playing along, or if being an echo of the real Willow, she only had echoes of Willow’s emotions, as well. Something told him it was the latter.

“What happened?” Giles asked. “What bargain was made with the Guardian?”

“Woah! ‘Guardian’?” interrupted Faith. “You know what that thing was?”

“I’m not positive, but I believe it was one of the earth spirits from an ancient time that no longer exists. Some survived by becoming guardians or protectors, though they are very rare today. This one was apparently tied to the Scythe, to protect it from misuse and anything else that would befall it.” Throughout the explanation, Giles kept his eyes trained on the ghostly image of Willow, who didn’t so much as blink during the entire speech.

She also looked terribly young, compared to her live counterpart. And terribly blank, as well; almost like a robot or computer pretending to be human. The words and facial feature were there, but the eyes were flat and dead.

“What deal was made?” Giles repeated.

“I had already ‘trangressed’ when she showed up,” said Willow. “I decided that if I had to pay for using the Scythe, I would make sure the spell worked. She agreed.”

“So she took your memories and your magic, and the dumped you someplace we wouldn’t find you?” Willow frowned at Buffy. The movement looked stiff and forced, as if there was no feeling behind it.

“No, she took my magic. The memories were something she offered after, when she didn’t have to,” explained Willow. “I don’t know about what happened after that, but the deal was she would put me where I would be found by a friend.”

“Why did she offer to remove your memory?” Giles asked, a frown on his own face.

“And why did you agree?” demanded Xander.

Willow tilted her head as she looked at Xander, her face back to its blank mask. “My magic was gone,” she told Xander, as if that explained everything. Though perhaps, it did.

“How was it removed?” Giles asked her, dreading the answer he was sure he wouldn’t like. There were reasons dangerous witches had their powers bound and not stripped.

“You know,” confirmed Willow, nodding at Giles. And he did.

“Care to share with the class, Giles?” prompted Faith.

“The power was ripped from her body,” Giles announced, focussing his gaze on the helpfully blank face of the Willow-ghost. “Every ounce of magic was pulled from her body, one agonizing handful at a time. Most witches don’t survive, and instead let their bodies slide into death as their magic is depleted.”

“I didn’t have that luxury,” confirmed the Willow-ghost.

“It’s agonizing for those who survive the process,” added Giles, trying to block out the image of Willow experiencing such pain.

“My death was not part of the bargain,” the Willow-ghost told them, adding, “and I was a very powerful witch.”

Buffy and Faith turned pale faces to look at Giles, but it was Xander who answered them.

“It took longer.”

“Boy, did it.” Giles felt almost angry at the ghost in front of him, for showing such a lack of seriousness when discussing the agony Willow had gone through.

“You don’t remember it, do you?” he demanded, his voice sounding harsher than he expected.

“I have the knowledge of the pain, and I know that it happened, but the actual memory of the pain itself is not there,” she confirmed.

“So she took your entire memory, to erase the memory of having your magic ripped away,” choked out Giles, closing his eyes.

“In a way,” she said. “Afterwards, my nerves were raw. Every part of my body felt like it was on fire, and I felt empty. Where I knew my magic should be, there was a deep, ragged, bloody wound that was sending bolts of hot agony through every nerve ending in my entire body.”

“She decided to take pity on me, and erase any memory I had of magic. Her thinking was that if I never knew I’d had magic to start with, I would never feel its loss,” she continued. “I had two choices – only two. Either she could take only the memories I had of magic, or she could take them all. Every memory, every detail and experience I’d ever had, would be gone.”

“And you went for the full memory wipe?” cried out an incredulous Xander.

“Do you know how much of my life has been touched by magic?” the Willow-ghost asked, frowning in a pale imitation of a real person. “Except for a few moments here or there, my entire life past the age of fifteen would have been wiped out. Everything from the day I met Buffy, until the day I did that last spell. Gone. I would have regressed to a fifteen year old.”

“So you choose the full service option,” snapped Xander.

“I didn’t think I had a choice. There was no way I was going back to being a fifteen year old, and there was never the option of _not_ taking my memories,” she argued back. “Besides, she told me she’d leave me where a friend would find me.”

“But-“

“My time’s almost up,” she interrupted Xander.

“No! You can’t go!” Buffy cried, reaching out a hand to grab hold of her, but getting nothing but air.

“I’m not really here, Buffy,” the Willow-ghost reminded her. “But I want you to remember something for me. No matter what’s happened since Sunnydale, know that I don’t regret my choices. I do have a few things I wouldn’t mind changing, but meeting you and then doing this spell – I’ll never be sorry for any of it.”

Buffy begged for Willow to stay as she started to fade, Xander echoing her pleas, but all too soon there was nothing left, not even a hint of mist.

Giles let the children gather themselves up, studiously avoiding admitting that he needed some time to pull himself together as well.

“So, what are we going to do now?” asked Faith. “What are we going to do about Willow?”

Giles remained as silent as the rest of them, but an idea began to circle through his mind. It had been forming slowly for the last day, but meeting Willow today – and then meeting her past-ghost-echo-self – the idea began to take shape.

If they couldn’t get Willow to come with them to London, then they would just have to bring London to Willow. Or some of the people, at least.

End Part 22


	24. Epilogue

Don watched with a smile as Willow absorbed every word his father said, copying his movements as best she could.

His father was teaching Willow to cook. It had probably started as a way for his father to get to know Willow better, but it had evolved into something bigger.

Don was just glad he wasn't in the line of fire anymore. His father had tried to teach both him and Charlie to cook years ago, but Charlie kept getting distracted by the numbers in the recipes and Don's best offerings usually involved a fire extinguisher at some point. So, his father had turned his last culinary hope on Willow, who was eating the attention up.

Today they were making some sort of salad that involved potatoes and mustard, which Don refused to get involved in.

Glancing out the window into the backyard, Don looked longingly at the barbeque smoking away. Colby had banished him to a twenty foot circle around the barbeque, with David running interference with a water gun while Megan sat at the table with Larry, laughing.

Even his team was in on the plot.

“Hey, look who we found!” called out Charlie as he finally returned with Amita from their bun run. Trailing behind him were Buffy, Xander, Faith and Giles. Don had been half-expecting to see them here, but that didn't mean he wanted them to come.

Things were still stilted between Willow and her Sunnydale friends, but she was determined to get to know them, and hopefully learn more about who she was. Already she'd learned where a lot of her reactions came from – the instinctive revulsion of guns, the fear of frogs, the computer programming. But she was also making sure they learned new stuff about her, too. Like her love for mountain climbing and camping, how she was making a name for herself at Arctic Morgan, and how she loved to read biographies and non-fiction, but despised scifi and fantasy books. (That had generated some looks between the Sunnydale group, but no one was talking.)

All in all, the last month had been a lot smoother than he had thought possible.

Buffy, Xander and Faith had decided to open a branch of whatever company they were working for in LA, being the West Coast headquarters of their North American branch. Don figured he could cut them some slack since they'd decided to move half-way across the globe just to be closer to Willow, even if he was convinced they were hiding something.

Yet despite everything, there still wasn't even the smallest memory or recollection popping through. In some ways Don was disappointed, because he knew how much she wanted to remember these people and the stories they told. On the other hand, he liked Willow the way she was now. It was selfish of him, but he didn't want her to become the person Buffy and Xander remembered, because that wasn't the person she was now.

He'd talked to Milo briefly about this, and the other man had been of the same opinion. When it came to Willow, the two of them thought a lot alike.

Don wished he could have been here this weekend to help him deal with the Sunnydale crew, but Milo and his fiancé had a family gathering to attend in San Francisco which took precedence.

“Hey! Welcome,” he called out. “Want anything to drink?”

Buffy looked longingly at the beer in his hand, but shook her head. “Beer bad for Buffy.”

He was sure there was a story and/or joke there judging by the suppressed smile on Xander's face, but Don let it go.

“There's non-alcoholic stuff on the table, and more in the fridge,” he told her. “And other alcoholic stuff in the cooler. Help yourself.”

“Where's Willow?” asked Xander, scanning the yard for her as the other three wandered off.

“Helping my dad in the kitchen,” he said, waving a hand over his shoulder.

“What's she making this time?” asked Charlie, joining them with a beer in his hand.

“Some salad thing. With potatoes.”

“Willow's making something? Huh,” said Xander, sounding slightly distracted. “I know she makes a mean cookie, and I've seen her do something once or twice in the kitchen, but I don't think you could classify that as cooking.”

“Well, she's doing better than Don,” commented Charlie with all the glee a little brother could dig up. “Haven't had to call the fire department yet.”

“Hey! At least I never found the mathematical formula to wormhole physics in the recipe for onion dip,” argued Don with a smile.

“Wow, so is that why Agent Sinclair is at the barbeque with a water gun pointed in your direction?” asked Xander with a smile.

Charlie just laughed, even as Don glared the glare of righteous indignation at his subordinate.

“Is the food ready?” called out his father, and Don turned to see Willow and his father coming out of the house with large bowls of something.

“Yep. First batch is ready to be served,” replied Colby, casting a wary glance in Don’s direction.

Don chose to ignore them all in favour of watching Willow. Some might say he was prejudiced, but Don was of the opinion that she was the most beautiful person there. She was glowing with good health and pregnancy, looking more happy and alive than he'd seen in months.

Food went by in a rush, drinks were drained and laughter rang out, and Don watched from Willow's side as their family and friends interacted with the family and friends from Willow's past.

Don followed Willow back into the house to get the desert, managing a few moments of privacy.

Wrapping his arms around her from behind, Don laid his hands on the barely-there bump of her stomach.

“I think we should tell them,” he whispered in her ear, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

“Today?” she asked, nervous and excited. They'd decided to keep quiet about the baby until after the first three months, though she'd had to tell her boss at Arctic Morgan. Morning sickness, apparently, waited for no man, be it CEO or Joint Chief. But the three months were up, and Don wanted to tell his family and friends.

And true, a little part of him wanted to show her friends that she was definitely staying with him, but only a small part. Barely noticeable. Really.

“I-ok,” she said, nodding her agreement.

“C'mon,” he said, grabbing the tray of desert tarts while Willow brought out the ice cream.

Once everyone had been served their sugary sweet treat, Don called for their attention, pulling Willow in front of him.

“Everyone, we have an announcement to make,” he said, wrapping his arms around Willow from behind. He could feel her beaming smile without even looking at her.

A quick look at his father showed that Alan Eppes was sitting on the edge of his seat. He probably thought Don was announcing their engagement, but Don figured a grandchild trumped a wedding by several levels of magnitude in his father's eyes.

“Willow and I – well, mostly Willow – are going to have a baby.”

There was a moment of silence before his father shouted “Oh, thank God!” and engulfed them both in a bear hug.

Things got loud and crazy after that, with one person after another offering congratulations and sly comments. Willow was somehow pried from his arms, probably by his father, and then Don was surrounded again. He was surprised to see the Sunnydale people among the congratulators, and reminded himself to revise his opinions of them.

By the time the insanity had died down to a manageable level, Willow was off to the side giggling with Amita, Megan, Buffy and Faith. The guys had somehow found themselves left to clean up alone, but the happy smiles all around kept it from turning into a bitching session.

“You're making me look bad,” said Charlie once they were alone.

“You don't need my help with that, Chuck,” said Don, knowing exactly what they were discussing. Charlie had finally gotten around to getting Amita to move in with him, long after Willow and Don had. Now, Don was in the process of providing his father with his first grandchild, and hopefully soon his first daughter-in-law, while Charlie had yet to make any type of bigger commitment.

Charlie glared in mock anger as he stomped away, and Don wondered idly if he was going to hide in his room and sulk like he had when he was eight. It wasn't like Don had planned this, it had just happened.

Next he was ambushed by his father, which he'd seen coming from the beginning.

“I'm working on it,” he said, hoping to nip this talk in the bud.

“Donny, when are you going to marry that girl?” Don noticed there wasn't any question of 'if' he should marry her, just that he was going to.

“I'm working on it,” he repeated.

“She's having your baby. You marry that girl,” he said again.

“I'm working on it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I don't want her to think I'm only proposing because she's pregnant, Dad,” Don explained very carefully and very quietly. “I want her to know that I want to marry her because I love her, not because she's pregnant.”

His father blinked at him for a moment before nodding his head. “So, you're working on it.”

“Yeah.”

And he was.

END


End file.
